Rule Number 5 - No Attachments
by Mad Hatter - J
Summary: Tallahassee comes across a lone female survivor on his way to Los Angeles. Though they're quick to strike up a friendship, they both know that in times like these it's better to avoid attachments.
1. Chapter 1

**THERE SHE WAS JUST...HITTING GRENADES FROM A ROOFTOP. SINGING DOO-WA DIDDY DIDDY DUM DIDDY-DOO.**

FWHACK.

BOOM.

10 seconds later.

FWACK.

BOOM.

He was drawn to the sound. It was the only sign of other survivors he had heard since he had high-tailed it out of his hometown in Florida. Now heading through Louisiana, he had left the relative safety of his Cadillac Escalade to investigate the cause of the echoing explosions. It was coming from a nearby rooftop. He checked around a corner for any stray zombies and, finding none, moved towards the revolving doors that led to the building's lobby. The doorway was blocked by several corpses, many without heads. He attempted to push the doors, hoping that the force would dislodge the zombies, but to no avail. Taking another look at the problem, he decided to drag each body one-by-one to the street curb. It proved more effective than his initial attempts.

The lobby floor, once white marble, was now a sea of red. Whether it was zombie or human juice, he couldn't tell. Never to be dissuaded, he slogged his way through it, kicking a severed hand from his path. An abandoned bloodied chainsaw lay on the ground nearby. The elevators inside were golden and splattered with blood. Switching his sawed-off shotgun to the other hand, he pressed the button. Raising his gun, battle ready, he soon found that it had been unnecessary. The elevator was empty.

The cheerful music going up was oddly soothing.

Reaching the rooftop, he approached the doorway to the outside world with caution. He was a touch trigger-happy at times, but he was not an idiot. Not a _complete_ idiot.

FWAK.

BOOM.

Amused laughter. A new sound added to the only two he could make out from the street below. _Female_ laughter. The door cracked open an inch as it was nudged by the barrel of a gun. Slowly, quietly, he made his way towards the figure that stood near the edge of the rooftop. She leaned on a golf-club, hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the damage of her game. Next to her lay a box of grenades. Grenade golf.

She picked up another from the box and placed it on the ground. Quickly withdrawing the pin, she took her position and swung, the grenade flying into the empty parking lot below.

"Four!" she called after it.

He chuckled from his position nearby.

She continued to survey the parking lot appearing oblivious to the noise behind her. But she had heard. She had heard him park his car a couple of blocks away. She had heard him trying to open the lobby doors and then dragging the bodies to the curb. She had heard him coming up the elevator. And she had heard his attempted sneak attack on her before he had even opened the door. If she had learnt anything from being the sole survivor in this town, it was vigilance. She would be dead had it not been for keen eyes and pricked ears. Or at least undead.

Based on his actions so far, she could tell he was human and based on the fact that he hadn't shot her yet, she felt she could safely say he was no real threat.

She turned her head slowly in his direction.

He was surprised by her lack of concern.

"You play?"

It took him a minute to realize she was referring to golf.

"I prefer less peaceful sports," he told her, gesturing to his shotgun.

"Me too usually, but I had these..." she picked up a grenade and positioned herself once more, "...lying around. I couldn't really think of a more entertaining way to pass time."

She swung and this time he was able to watch its journey to the lot below. He now saw what she was doing. In this game of golf you didn't aim for the hole. You aimed for the zombie. He laughed with his hands on his hips as one of them was thrown into the air by the force of the blast, leaving his leg behind from the knee down.

"Oh man...you do this all day?" he grinned, shaking his head slowly as he stared down at two zombies that had just shown up, attracted to the noise.

"Not _all_ day. I try to fit some sharpshooting into my routine. Any weapons. Any I can get my hands on around here. It makes for good practice. Gotta learn how to use whatever's on hand. My motto: Stay armed and you'll remain unharmed."

He looked around the rooftop, spotting the sniper rifle and an assortment of other weapons, as well as what looked like a makeshift bed.

"You sleep up here?"

"In my view, it's the best place. Zombies have never made it up here. Mainly, I think, because they don't know I'm up here. I've got a 360 birds-eye view of the town, it's elevated, cool, and at the end of the day it's kind of nice to lie down in the fresh air and watch the stars."

"Where do you get your supplies?" He scanned the surrounding buildings for signs of a grocery outlet, but saw none.

"This used to be an office building. There's plenty of stuff lying around here, but I got most of it from a store on the way up here."

"You ain't a local?" he asked. He was trying to remember the name of the town he had seen on the sign on his way in, but for the life of him could not recall.

"I meant up to the roof."

They both suddenly realized that they neither knew one another, nor trusted one another and simultaneously drew weapons; he raising the shotgun and she pulling a machete from a sheath attached to her pants.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Who are _you_?" he replied

They eyed each other with suspicion for a long while before he decided to break the silence.

"I don't much like giving out my name to strangers."

"Neither. Where'd you come from?"

"Tallahassee."

"Well, Tallahassee, welcome to Winnfield, Louisiana."

He thought he'd recognized the accent. Louisiana. So he _had_ been driving in the right direction.

"Where're you headed?" she asked later as they sat on the roof eating soup out of cups, which she'd warmed up with a fire she'd built inside.

"Not really sure. Thought I might get out and see the country while there isn't much traffic."

She smiled and nodded while swallowing the last spoonful of food. The sun was just starting to set and the sky was an orangey-pink coloration. It would have looked slightly beautiful if it wasn't for the zombies below strolling aimlessly about.

"You plan on staying here for good?" Tallahassee asked her. He dropped his empty cup onto the head of a zombie below, causing both of them to break into laughter as the mug shattered and the zombie twisted around in confusion.

"Hadn't planned that far ahead. It's worked for me so far though. Don't see any point in leaving now."

It was kind of nice to have someone to talk to after being alone for so long, but she had survived perfectly well by herself up on top of this building; she didn't particularly feel like leaving. One of her own personal rules in times like these was to remain solo. One person was easier to look after then...well, more than one. Tallahassee took off his hat, dusted the brim with the smack of a hand, and replaced it. It was strange meeting someone who had become so at ease with the situation, as she had too. His outfit: jeans, boots, t-shirt, leather jacket and cowboy hat; it seemed practical but also casual. Her own outfit included similar garments; boots with faded black jeans, a black t-shirt and the necklace her mother had given her for her for her 8th birthday. She played with the crystal tied onto the piece of leather, glancing at Tallahassee's own necklaces. It was an interesting collaboration of adornments.

"I'll probably be moving on tomorrow, then. Places to go. Zombies to kill..." he trailed off and then a thought struck him, "Hey, you haven't come across any Twinkies 'round here have you?"

She thought for a moment and shook her head.

"Damn," he said with disappointment, "I've been craving a Twinkie like a motherfucker."

"How about a hot chocolate?" she offered.

"You got some?"

"Yeah. I stocked up on the shit. It's like camping when you were a kid. Sipping cocoa, watching the stars..." she paused, reminiscing about her childhood. "Marshmallows?"

"Sure," he smiled. It was kind of nice now that he came to think of it.

So they sat up on the roof, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows, tossing rocks down at the zombies below as a form of entertainment, guns and knives by their sides just in case. Just in case.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, just a quick note.**

 **I wrote this series a long time ago and originally posted it on Quizilla. This is the first time I've opened it in years after deciding I wanted to share it again, and as far as I can tell, it's filled with cheesy puns, so I apologize in advance, haha. The titles of each chapter are a play on a classic rock song title, also cheesy puns.**

 **Any feedback is much appreciated. xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**SHE'S GOT GUNS, SHE KNOWS HOW TO USE THEM**

By nightfall, they'd set up another bed for Tallahassee, while Winnfield readjusted her own to a level of relative comfort. She would be up as soon as the sun rose, just like any other day, when she would go for a morning run. Yes, run was the right word. Or perhaps shootout was a better one. Either way she would be up and that was what mattered. Their beds weren't too far apart, but had been made in such a way that hers was above his, closer to the ledge, whilst when lying down his feet would be pointing towards hers. Not too far apart, but not too close. It was a reflection of the way she lived; how she related to people both now and before.

As she sat with her back against the ledge wall, she watched Tallahassee, who was staring up at the stars and sitting like a kid with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms clasped around them. She smiled for the first time in a long time at something other than the annihilation of the living dead. As he caught her looking at him, Tallahassee gave her a funny look. "What?"

"I was never much of a people person, but it's kind of nice having someone else," Winnfield replied, looking down at her boots.

"Must be the company", he joked.

Smiling at each other for a moment, they became distracted by a loud 'bang' nearby. Tallahassee rose to his feet, shotgun in hand and approached the doorway he had entered through earlier. Winnfield picked up her own gun and followed suit in case he needed backup. He grabbed the doorhandle and looked at her. "1...2...3!" He pulled it open and they both aimed their guns into the stairwell. A pair of eyes stared back at them. But they weren't human eyes. The pair stepped back as it came out onto the rooftop.

"You gotta be kidding me," Tallahassee said.

It was a goat. A goat of the undead.

"A motherfucking goat?," he cried out. Winnfield couldn't reply though; she was laughing too hard. He glanced at her as though she was crazy, which wasn't completely out of the question as she continued laughing whilst it came after her. It was making weird sounds, like a cross between a normal goat noise and a never-ending belch. Tallahassee shot it, hitting it in the side. It fell to the ground, but continued its attempts to get up and consume the flesh of the human it was pursuing. Winnfield took up her own weapon and shot it in the head, finishing the job. She was still chuckling slightly as Tallahassee reached her side. Then he began laughing.

"That was the most fucked up thing I've ever seen; and I've seen a lot of fucked up things."

"Oh, man. That goes to the top of my list," she sighed, sitting down once more with her back against the wall. Tallahassee returned to the doorway to both close and barricade it with the material at hand.

"What list?" he asked her as he wedged a chair under the handle.

"I've made a mental list of all the crazy things I've witnessed so far. Number one _used_ to be a zombie fighting an alligator."

"Now that would be pretty awesome," he agreed, settling back down onto his own bed, "I thought goat were herbivores, anyway."

"That wasn't a goat. That was a zombie-goat. I think it's fair to say that zombie-goats eat flesh."

"Well it is now."

They both laughed at this, and then lapsed into a comfortable silence. Tallahassee was lying on his stomach facing Winnfield. He was glad he'd stopped to investigate what the noises were, but he would definitely be leaving the next day. One of his own rules of survival was no attachments. She would stay living up here and he would be on his way.

"Well, time to hit the hay," Winnfield said as she lay down on her improvised bed. She took off her boots and laid back, hands behind her head, staring up at the sprawling sky. Sensing that it was the end of conversation until morning, Tallahassee did the same.

* * *

But Winnfield wasn't there when he woke up the following morning.

In a moment of panic, he leapt up and ran to the edge of the building, checking to make sure his car was still where he had parked it. It was. He let out a sigh of relief, but his relief was short-lived as he heard gunshots from the streets below.

Winnfield was running fast, her head turned in the direction of the zombie behind her. This was part of her daily routine; a way to keep fit and clear out the zombies. She didn't want to stay on the rooftop all day, safe though it was. Whilst jogging around the town that was now considerably less populated, even by zombies, she would scout out food stores, pharmacies and hiding places in case she ever came to be in need of either of the three. This morning she had investigated yet another chain restaurant, finding nothing but zombies and rotting burgers. Another one of her rules, though it was one she hated to follow, was strictly no consumption of meat. This whole thing had started because of an infected burger and she hadn't come this far avoiding being bitten, just to bite into a zombifying burger. After the goat last night, she certainly wouldn't be taking her chances with _any_ animal meat.

She came to a halt and shot the head off of the gut-muncher behind her, just as another one sprinted towards her from ahead. BANG! Before she had even raised her gun, a shot rang out. Glancing up at the rooftop above, she spotted Tallahassee with her sniper rifle, looking down through the scope. He waved down at her and she smiled.

"What are you doing?" he called down to her.

"Exercising!" she shouted back.

"Oh. Okay!" he yelled, standing up with the rifle in hand. He soon joined her on the street, hat, boots and shades back on. He was ready to leave.

"Going?" she asked with what could have been a hint of disappointment.

"Afraid so."

They both leant on their guns, barrels pointed towards the asphalt, standing in an awkward silence that hadn't been present the night before.

"Alright, well, bye," he quickly farewelled, walking off towards his car.

"Yep," she replied, with a sigh soft enough to avoid being heard.

She watched him leave and gave a wave and a forced smile as he drove by. It was the first time she had ever wanted to break one of her own rules: No Attachments.


	3. Chapter 3

**EVERY TIME YOU GO AWAY**

 **YOU TAKE A PIECE OF ME WITH YOU**

It was only six hours later that Tallahassee spotted the second survivor he had come across since leaving Florida. They were heading in the opposite direction, wheeling a luggage bag behind them. As soon as they saw his car – its appearance menacing with the snowplow attached to the front – they ducked behind a rusty motorcycle that had been left abandoned on the road. Tallahassee battered cars out of his path, trying to get closer. He brought the car to a halt and slowly stepped out, watching the other person who cowered behind their cover with a gun pointed at him.

For a young guy, he sure looked a hell of a lot like a pussy.

Throwing his sunglasses into the car behind him, Tallahassee brought out a gun of his own and, after locking it into place, pointed it right back at the boy, who was now standing in a defensive pose. He was literally shaking in his boots. It was a good old Mexican standoff. Tallahassee was considering shooting him right there on the spot, but the kid's absolutely pathetic appearance appealed to the very small amount of decency left in him. As the boy raised his hand with a hitchhiking gesture, Tallahassee lowered his weapon and nodded for him to get in the car. Before he turned around, Tallahassee kicked the raised motorcycle back to its original position on the ground; a seemingly pointless act of destruction that nonetheless pleased him.

"Thank-you," the kid said, throwing his bag into the vehicle. As he climbed into the car, he looked into the backseat.

Tallahassee observed him with a slight frown. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing, I just have this list," the kid replied.

He was already getting on Tallahassee's nerves. "There's nothing back there but my duffel bag," he reassured him.

The kid nodded in a kind of nervous way, and sat forward in his seat. "Uh, what's your name?"

"Stop. No names. I don't want us getting too familiar with each other," Tallahassee told him. He took out a large hunting knife from the sheath on his pants so that he could sit a little more comfortably, alarming the kid in the process. Ignoring his fear, Tallahassee placed the knife on top of the storage compartment between the seats and reached for his whiskey bottle.

"Careful, you nearly knocked your alcohol over with your knife", the kid said, with cautious sarcasm.

Ignoring him yet again, Tallahassee picked up a shot glass.

"Oh, no, it's okay. You don't have too..." the kid began, but he was cut off.

"So, where you headed?"

"Uh, Columbus, you?" he replied as he watched the man pour out a drink.

"Tallahassee," he replied, handing the shot glass over. They toasted to nothing before drinking. Well, Tallahassee did anyway. He didn't notice the kid toss the contents of his glass out the window.

"Mmm," the kid smiled.

"More?" Tallahassee offered.

"Uh, no. One for me. One and done I always say. Well, I said that once."

Tallahassee drank another mouthful.

"You know, Tallahassee and Columbus are both east," the kid went on.

"So?" Tallahassee asked, despite knowing where it was the kid was heading with this.

"So, Tallahassee, do you wanna stick together? At least for a while?" he suggested.

Tallahassee smiled, knowing the kid needed him a hell of a lot more than he needed the kid.

"Here's the deal, Columbus," he began, "I'm not that easy to get along with, and I'm sensing you're a bit of a bitch. So, I'll give this relationship 'til Texarkana."

"Texarkana? Really? You'll take me as far as that?" Columbus replied, seeming quite happy whilst he buckled up, but Tallahassee was sensing a touch of sarcasm in his answer.

"You're a pappy little spitfuck, aren't ya?"

Columbus smiled in response and added, "You know, you really should buckle up. For safety reasons."

"I can already tell you are gonna get on my nerves" Tallahassee groaned. They took off down the road, dodging cars in their path.

* * *

They had been on the road for about ten minutes before Tallahassee brought the car to a halt. Columbus eyed him nervously; surely he wasn't kicking him out already. But Tallahassee said nothing to him as he got out of the car. Columbus watched him walk out towards a ditch down the side of the road. He jumped out of the car to follow him.

"Uh, what are we doing here?"

"We're taking a look. It's a goddamn hostess truck," Tallahassee replied, as though it was the most obvious answer.

"Yeah, I can see that. So what?"

"I could really use a Twinkie."

Tallahassee was about to make his way down the slope when he noticed Columbus looking hesitant.

"You coming?"

"Ah, yes," Columbus replied, remaining where he stood.

Tallahassee waited, and then stared at him with a disturbed expression as the kid started to do stretches and jumping-jacks.

"Are you fucking with me?" he asked in all seriousness.

"No. You should actually limber up as well," Columbus suggested, ignoring Tallahassee's amused laughter.

"I don't believe in it. You ever see a lion limber up before it takes down a gazelle?"

Columbus considered this and then proceeded to walk down the hill towards the truck. He would have to take his chances. Gun resting on his shoulder, he waited while Tallahassee knocked on the truck's back doors. There was no reply; no growl of undead hunger. Drawing out his own sawed-off shotgun, Tallahassee proceeded to pull open the doors. Packets and packets off cakes came tumbling out, but, sadly, not the sort he was looking for.

"Snowballs? Snowballs! Where's the fucking Twinkies?!" He accentuated his cursing with a swift kick at the packaged sweets. The look of devastation on his face said it all.

"I like Snowballs," Columbus replied through a mouthful of the cake. Tallahassee threw him a dark look,

"I hate coconut. Not the taste, the consistency." His angry breathing was starting to alarm Columbus. "This Twinkie thing? It ain't over yet," the determined man declared. He returned to the car in a huff.

Columbus, meanwhile, took the opportunity to grab a few packets before they left. The way he saw it, any food was good food. As he walked back up the hill, he felt an unavoidable need for a bathroom break.

"Uh, this may be a bad time, but I need to take the browns to the super bowl!" he called up to Tallahassee.

"Oh really?" came the reply.

They came across a roadside restroom a few miles down the road from where they had found the Hostess truck. While Columbus entered the bathroom on high alert, Tallahassee remained out the front by the car, knife in hand and practising his killing moves. He was still pissed off about the continued absence of Twinkies in his life. To take his mind of this, he reached into his pocket for some gum, only to feel something pointy.

"What the...?"

He pulled the small object out. It was attached to a thin length of leather.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Winnfield's necklace.

As was custom with him, whenever he came across an interesting piece of adornment, he wore it himself. So seeing it as a parting gift, he tied the length of leather around his neck.

* * *

Moving down the highway again some 15 minutes later, the duo reached a burnt out car in the middle of the road, blocking their pathway to some distant and imagined Eden. Tallahassee pulled over. "Alright, I'll push, you steer," he told the boy.

Continuing on their way, they began a conversation that Columbus was having a tiny bit of trouble following.

"The last time I laid… pipe?"

Tallahassee sighed. "No, the last time you went twenty-toes? Put Percy in the playpen?"

"Who's Percy?"

Tallahassee tried a few more analogies before Columbus finally understood what it was they were talking about.

"Oh, you mean made love?"

"Well," Tallahassee considered, "Just sex, really."

"Uh..." Columbus knew he would have to come up with a story. And fast. Any form of approval from Tallahassee depended on it. He managed to fabricate a fairly believable story involving an abandoned Fed-Ex truck and a girl named Beverly Hills, before turning the question back on the original asker.

"Me? Well, I...I..." Tallahassee didn't really seem to want to say, but they both quickly became distracted by a zombie that sat in the middle of the road ahead, chewing on some poor guy's intestines.

"Oh my God," Columbus said, taking in the gory sight, "It makes you sick. It really makes you sick."

Tallahassee just stared at him in disbelief of his girlish whining, and Columbus went on, "It makes you sad. It makes you wish that, you know, if you could just go back to the way things were, you'd be out in the backyard trying to catch fireflies...yet instead, this."

They both glanced back towards the zombie, and it looked towards them suddenly. Not towards them, exactly, but just beyond them. That was when they heard a roaring coming down the highway towards them. Turning in their seats they spotted a speeding motorbike.

"Either that's another survivor, or the zombies have taught themselves to ride bikes," Tallahassee joked.

Columbus smiled but the worry was still evident on his features. He watched as the bike sped towards them and, as it went past the car, spotted longish strawberry blonde hair billowing out of the back of the helmet. Tallahassee narrowed his eyes as though experiencing some sort of recognition.

"You know them?" Columbus asked.

"Yeah, I think I do."

The bike kept going, slamming wheel-first into the zombies face, and splattering blood everywhere. Tallahassee laughed and Columbus narrowed his eyes, concerned by the fact that he found something like that funny. He was beginning to see that Tallahassee had a sick sense of humour. The bike made a u-turn and headed back towards them, pulling to a halt a few feet away. The rider stepped off. Removing the helmet, a pretty face was revealed; big blue eyes staring back at them, skin lightly tanned from a life spent mainly outdoors. She cut an athletic figure, which Columbus guessed was the result of escaping and killing zombies. She wore a t-shirt of military green under a black motorcycle jacket. Her jeans were black and faded and, strapped to her thigh much like Tallahassee wore, was a hunting knife in a sheath. She climbed off the bike and came towards them with a broad, confident smile.

"That you Tallahassee?" she called to him.

"Sure is!" he called out the window. He hopped out of the car and Columbus watched them both pause awkwardly, as though not really surely of an appropriate way to greet each other. They settled on a handshake.

"What're you doing out here? I thought you said you were staying back in Winnfield."

"Yeah, well. It seems I lost a treasured item of mine. Have you seen it?" she replied, but she was smiling and had already spotted it around his neck.

"Oh, well, I...I thought it might have been a...I don't know," Tallahassee said, but she stopped him a shake of the head.

"Never mind," she said, "It gave me an excuse to come looking for you."

They stood looking at one another for a moment before Tallahassee broke the gaze by nodding over at her bike; a nice looking Harley.

"Where you headed now?"

"Actually", she explained, "the bike's just about out of gas. I was hoping I'd stumble across some nice fellow who'd offer me a lift."

"Well, you probably won't come across someone like that for a long time, so you might just have to put up with us."


	4. Chapter 4

**HI**

 **NICE TO EAT YOU**

Winnfield was very similar to Tallahassee in some ways. She had the same sense of humour, the same strong desire to kill the undead and, as it would later turn out, the same taste in music and film. But before they drove on, after she ran the face off of a zombie with her motorcycle, she ran back to her bike to retrieve a large duffel bag. At first glance Columbus had guessed it contained her travel items; clothes, toiletries, food and water, then he noticed that some areas of the bag were pointy. As Winnfield saw him staring at the unusual corners, she explained to him, unzipping the bag as she did so, that she was collecting novels. It seemed an unusual hobby to take up in Zombieland, but he could see where she was coming from; she wanted to preserve some small part of what civilization there used to be, before all the nothingness.

She was like the more educated version of Tallahassee; a kind of Tallahassee 2.0.

As the threesome continued down the highway towards their own personal destinations, they settled into a comfortable conversation. Columbus felt a lot more at ease with another person in the car.

"So you're from Louisiana?" he asked Winnfield, who was riding shotgun. Tallahassee had pretty much threatened to leave him on the side of the road – not necessarily alive, either – if he didn't move into the backseat.

"Yeah" she quickly replied to him, but then turned to Tallahassee, "Why are you going back this way? I thought you were heading west."

"I came from out west. There's nothing out there. I doubled back after I left your little set-up."

"He's hunting for Twinkies," Columbus explained.

Tallahassee gave him a dark look which quickly shut him up.

"I figured that when you asked me if I'd seen any. Still haven't I'm afraid," Winnfield told them.

"Well there's a town coming up in a few miles and there ought to be a grocery store there," Tallahassee announced.

"Really? You, uh, you wanna stop?" Columbus asked with a hint of fear.

"What's wrong, kid? You scared?" Winnfield asked with a slick smile, but after he gave her an unconvincing shake of the head, she exchanged her smile for a look of sympathy. "Nah, it's okay if you are. I was when this first started. I got used to it."

Tallahassee, as Columbus would have guessed, was shaking his head. "I wasn't scared."

"You want a fucking medal?" Winnfield asked him with mock sincerity. He gave her the same look he had given Columbus only moments earlier, but it seemed friendlier when directed at her. Columbus glanced from one to the other and then rested his gaze upon Winnfield's bag. She looked back at him.

"You can have a look if you like."

With strange level of curiosity, he looked through the various volumes contained in the duffel bag. It ranged from Stephen King and Anne Rice to Dickens, Voltaire and Sophocles. An interesting collection, most of which looked as though they had been read a number of times. He opened up a copy of _The Origin of Species_ by Charles Darwin, and glanced up at the owner. She sat smiling calmly, resting her elbow on the open window. Every now and then Tallahassee would glance over at her as though making sure that she was still there, that he hadn't just imagined picking her up. Columbus wouldn't have thought of her as the type to read this kind of material.

"You know, I did have this kind of rule that I wouldn't go out of my way to get to know anyone that I met who wasn't trying to consume my flesh, but since everyone's being so quiet, I say to hell with it," Winnfield said, breaking the silence.

"What? You wanna play 'I Spy'?" Tallahassee joked, not very pleased with the idea.

"No. I had something in mind that'll help us get to know each other."

"A threesome?" Tallahassee joked again, only this time it sounded a little less of a joke.

"Like 20 questions or something?" Columbus asked.

"Yeah, something like that," Winnfield replied.

"Oh, great! I like this sort of thing. It helps break the ice, you know. Get rid of the awkwardness," Columbus smiled, showing enthusiasm for the idea.

"You think it would add to the awkwardness if I shoved this shotgun barrel up your ass?" Tallahassee asked him, making a thrusting motion with the sawn-off.

"Probably," Columbus replied.

"Enough flirting," Winnfield jumped in, "Come on, Hass. It won't kill you."

"No, but it might make me _want_ to kill someone."

"Alright..." Ignoring his negative response, she began thinking up some questions to ask.

"Oh, I've got one!" Columbus said.

"Well, go on."

"Would you rather be stranded on an island alone, or with someone you hate?" he asked.

"Alone," Tallahassee replied straight away.

"But what if the person grew on you?" Columbus asked him.

"They haven't yet" he said back, glaring directly at him via the rear-view mirror.

Winnfield chuckled.

"Would you rather lose your legs, or lose your arms?" she asked.

"Well it wouldn't matter if a zombie chewed 'em off, because you'd be dead anyway," Tallahassee pointed out.

"So then let's say you lost them some other way."

"That's a tough one," Columbus frowned, taking it very seriously, "I mean, I could say arms because at least you could still run, but how would you open doors? And if you only had arms, you could open doors, but think of how slowly you'd move."

"Alright, I got one," Tallahassee announced, "Would you rather have sex with someone you really hate or screw an animal?"

Columbus looked at him with a combination of disgust and disapproval.

"Sex with someone I hate. Isn't that the best kind? When you're just like 'I freaking hate you so much I just want to screw your brains out'."

Tallahassee stared at her. "You have got to be the greatest woman I have ever met."

She smiled and looked back at Columbus, who was yet to reply.

"Yeah. Someone I hate," he replied, a little too fast.

"Aniphile," Tallahassee muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

"Speaking of animals," Winnfield said suddenly, "How about that goat?"

Tallahassee laughed, "Oh yeah. I nearly forgot about that."

"Goat?" Columbus frowned.

"Ever see a goat trying to get a mouthful of human flesh?" Tallahassee asked him.

The kid's eyes widened at the thought and he shook his head.

"That was hilarious," Winnfield reminisced.

"Not so much for the goat though," Tallahassee pointed out.


	5. Chapter 5

**YOU'RE SIMPLY THE BEST... BETTER THAN THE INFECTIOUS**

A few abandoned cars remained in the parking lot as they finally came across an average-looking supermarket: _Blaine's Grocers_.

Tallahassee parked close to the entrance, backing the Escalade up so that the trunk faced the electrically-powered doors. Although Winnfield was usually a fairly optimistic woman, she knew that it was only days now until the power would shut itself off for good. Until then, they could make the most of frozen foods like ice-cream, lighting at night time that made the living-dead easier to spot, and cooking appliances as opposed to using a fire, which made her feel a bit like a cave-woman.

"I'm gonna find me a Twinkie," Tallahassee informed them with a determined grin.

Columbus didn't seem all too happy with having to stop for this sole reason. But by now he knew it was better to humor the man than to aggravate him; especially since Tallahassee didn't seem to have a problem with expressing his anger in inventively-violent ways.  
And as if to prove Columbus' point, Tallahassee opened the back of the car to reveal an assortment of garden implements and sporting equipment; from garden-shears, a pickaxe and a shovel, to a baseball bat and a hockey stick, as well as a couple of cans of gasoline. Whether those were intended for the car or if Tallahassee had other things in mind for them, Columbus wasn't sure.

"You are a scary man," he commented.

Glancing at the girl next to him, Columbus initially thought that she too looked disturbed by the collection, then he realized that she was simply deep in thought as to which of the potential weapons she would choose.

Tallahassee took out a pickaxe, considered it for a moment, then threw it back in the car, picking up the garden shears and snapping them open and closed a couple of times before sliding them into the back of his jeans for later use. He then selected a metal baseball bat before turning to Winnfield.

"You want anything?" he asked her.

She surveyed the items with careful consideration. "Shovel," she finally decided, "and that pickaxe."

"Are you going prospecting?" Columbus muttered as Tallahassee passed Winnfield the requested tools. She gave Columbus a confident smile and turned to face the supermarket.

"Prospecting for zombie-gold", she said.

* * *

Tallahassee led the charge after grabbing his third and final weapon of choice; a banjo. Stepping into the store eagerly, with Columbus to his left and Winnfield to his right, he paused at the front of the store, allowing them a view of all the aisles.  
Just as everything fell silent, Tallahassee began plucking at the banjo; a tune that Winnfield recognized from _Deliverance_. It was the one from the particularly unsettling scene when the audience begins to realize that mayhap somethin' ain't right with the locals. It was a fitting song, to say the least.

It wasn't long before one of their own disgruntled locals, a particularly large zombie, came waddling towards them. Taking off the banjo, Tallahassee held it upside down, wielding it like a bat, ready to swing.

"I'll go scout out the Twinkies," Winnfield told them.

"O- KAY!" Tallahassee replied, the last half of the word strained by the amount of force he put into his swing. He took the zombie down like it wasn't even the 500 pounds that it was.

Winnfield found the right aisle, but failed to come up with the goods. It looked like they had all either been sold or stolen. She did, however, find plenty of Hostess CupCakes and Sno Balls. Looking around, she spotted an empty shopping basket and began loading it with various items.

"No good on the Twinkies, Hass!" she called out.

"Shit fuckin' damn it!" she heard him curse.

"You could always check the back," Columbus pointed out to him.

Winnfield continued making her way down the aisles, making the most of their trip to the grocery store. They might as well stock up on food and bottled water. She had reached the liquor section and, after deciding that Columbus probably didn't drink, began wondering which beer to get for Tallahassee. She had seen his bottle of Kentucky bourbon in the car, but at the end of the day beer always seemed the safe bet.

As she settled on a case of Miller's, she heard a shriek from behind her. Sliding the beer across the floor, she gripped the shovel and turned to face the zombie that had been hiding in the wine section. It took a few steps, considering her whilst blood pooled from its decaying mouth.

"Winnfield! Where are ya?" Tallahassee yelled from somewhere back in the main part of the store.

"Liquor!" she called back.

She started walking towards the bloodied man, unaware that Columbus had just found his way into the section. He watched as she swung the shovel blade into the zombies face, sending it onto its back. His eyes widened as she positioned the tip of the blade onto its neck and proceeded to jump onto the shovel, decapitating the flesh-hungry fiend. Scooping up the head with the gardening tool, Winnfield flung it at him, laughing playfully.

"Whoa! What the- Are you insane?" he protested as he quickly dodged it.

She breathed out heavily through her lips and leaned on the shovel. Shrugging, she smiled.

"I don't see a lot of Twinkie-huntin' going on here," Tallahassee commented as he walked up. He had witnessed the head-throwing incident and had gotten a pretty good laugh out of it.  
"What's with the basket, anyway?"

"Every good road trip needs snacks", Winnfield told him, "and I thought you might like some beer to go with your Twinkies." She motioned to the case of beer that now sat close to where Columbus was standing.

Tallahassee grinned and nodded. "I like the way you think." He picked up the box and passed it to Columbus, but before he could protest Tallahassee gave him a look that said 'One word of complaint and I'll shoot you in the foot. Make that _both_ feet'.

Winnfield tossed her shovel down and rested the pickaxe on her shoulder, the basket of goodies in her opposite hand. "Don't worry, kid. I've got your back," she reassured him.

Somehow he wasn't comforted by that.

"I'm Twinkie the Kid and I'm goin' to Twinkie Town," Winnfield overheard Tallahassee mutter to himself. She shook her head at his obsession, but she couldn't help but smile a little. It was almost cute.

She noticed that he didn't have any weapons left besides the usual sawed-off shotgun, and found out why, as they passed the body of a very obese zombie who had come to a similar, decapitated end as her own 'friend'.

Just as she started humming the tune to Dean Martin's 'Ain't That a Kick in the Head', quietly singing a few lines every now and then, they came to an abrupt halt. Checking to see why they weren't still making their way to the back of the store, she was surprised to see a distressed young woman standing near the door to the storage area.

Tallahassee glanced back at Winnfield and Columbus, checking their responses. Winnfield nodded that they should lend whatever help they could, but when they turned back to look at the girl, she was already heading through the door. They followed her, but Columbus hesitated outside the doorway.

"I'll catch up," he told Winnfield as she turned to see what he was doing.

Grabbing an empty box from the ground nearby, he opened the emergency EXIT door and wedged the carton against it to make sure it would stay open. If the need arose, they would have an easy escape route.

"It's my sister," the girl was telling Winnfield and Tallahassee, distress evident in her voice, "She's been bitten."

Winnfield winced and observed the little girl before them, who sat up on a table looking scared. The infected bite was clear on her forearm and, by the look of it, had been there for a few hours by then.  
Tallahassee gave a sympathetic nod of understanding. In a case like this, when it was caught early, there was only one humane thing that they could do; kill the person before they tried to eat them.

"How do you want to do this?" Winnfield asked gently.

The girl looked like she couldn't even comprehend the solution.

Hearing footsteps behind them, they turned their heads. Columbus approached the group, and could tell by the looks on their faces that whatever the problem was, it wasn't good.

"They're sisters," Tallahassee filled him in, "The little one's been bit. Act normal, try not to freak her out." He turned back to the two young girls, "Columbus, this is Wichita and Little Rock."

"So, you did all this for a Twinkie?" the older sister asked Columbus.

"Oh, no no no. He did," he nodded in Tallahassee's direction.

"I'm just kind of like a Sancho Panza character," he told her. She didn't get the reference, so Columbus jumped back in, changing the subject. "Um, I don't think she has long to live," he whispered.

"Yeah, she doesn't," Winnfield said in a way that was so definite they all turned to look at her, "I was with my brother when this started. He got bit too, and I was stupid enough to let him live until he turned. It's much less painful for everyone if you end it now."

She swallowed, her throat making an audible click, and looked away.

"We already discussed it. We were just looking for a way out," Wichita explained.

"What? No. She's still just a little girl," Columbus protested. He glanced at Tallahassee, but found him gazing at Winnfield with what might have been concern.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

They all turned their attention to the infected person-of-interest.

"Look, kid," Winnfield began, taking a couple of steps towards her, the pickaxe she was holding dangling beside her leg, "You're really sick. And if we don't do something now, you're gonna end up like one of those things out there. You don't want that, do you?"

Little Rock shook her head.

"Yeah, but your sister wants us to–" Columbus said.

"It's not her decision," Little Rock told him before he could finish, "It's mine. And I've already made up my mind."

"We already said goodbye, but we didn't have a gun," Wichita said.

"Well, we don't know that there's definitely no cure, right?" Columbus reasoned.

"You're just gutless!" Little Rock cried, "Let him do it." She nodded to Tallahassee, who looked very uneasy about being given the job of child executioner.

Columbus turned around and walked a few paces away, blocking his ears with his index fingers. He didn't need to witness something like this. Winnfield remained by Tallahassee's side, but was ready to shut her eyes the moment he put his finger on the trigger. He raised the gun slowly.

"Wait, wait! Let me do it," Wichita pleaded. She was already crying, but was still able to take the gun and point it at her little sister. Checking that both barrels of the shotgun were loaded, she cocked the gun and took a deep breath.

They waited for a few moments, but when it seemed she couldn't bring herself to do it, Tallahassee stepped forward.

"You need some help?"

"Now that you mention it..." Wichita swung around, all traces of grief now gone from her face as she pointed the weapon at its previous owner. Tallahassee raised his hands in surprise. "We'll take your weapons, your car keys and your ammunition." She smiled sweetly.

Her little sister, an apparent hypochondriac, jumped down from the table to join her. "And if you got it, sugarless gum."

"What the fuck?" Tallahassee frowned.

Winnfield raised the pickaxe slowly in a menacing way, to rest it on her shoulder, but she knew it was no use even trying anything against a shotgun. Columbus handed his shotgun over to Little Rock, who stopped in front of Winnfield, considered her weapon, and then decided she didn't want it.

"Wa...Wait, why are you guys doing this?" Columbus asked.

Winnfield was sort of amazed that, even now, Columbus still seemed to have some sort of faith in other humans.

"Well, better you make the mistake of trusting us, than we make the mistake of trusting you," Wichita replied, as if to prove Winnfield's thought.

The two sisters quickly exited, leaving the other three survivors stunned by the sudden betrayal. Winnfield threw her basket of food on the ground.

"No use taking that anymore. A roadtrip's not the same without a car."

Tallahassee grunted and stalked out of the room, back towards the main entrance.

They were forced to watch as the girls left in their car, with their equipment. And, although they had been 'kind' enough to toss their bags out on the road, Little Rock still had the nerve to wave goodbye to them as they drove away.

"Why didn't you say somethin' to them?" Tallahassee asked Winnfield once the Cadillac had disappeared from their sight, "Reason with them, or something?"

"What? You think just because we're girls we'd have some sort of sisterhood bond?"

"Well..."

"Oh yeah. 'Hey girls, we all have vaginas here. Can't we reach some sort of agreement? Maybe we can be BFF's and go shopping together and...and paint each other's toenails.' "

"Alright, alright, I get your point."

"I can't believe they just did that," Columbus muttered.

"Kid, the world didn't get any less hostile after everyone started killing each other. It's basically the same place, only with less crappy TV shows. Come to think of it, if there's a TV company still running somewhere, you can bet they'll be developing a new reality show; something along the lines of _Extreme Makeover: Zombie Edition."_

" _Zombies Gone Wild,"_ Columbus suggested.

" _Dancing with the Zombies_."

" _Pimp My Zombie."_

Winnfield started laughing and Columbus managed a smile.

" _America's Got Zombies,_ " she said in-between chuckles.

"Or _Man vs. Zombie,_ " Tallahassee mused, "I'd watch that. Hell, I could _be_ in that."

They allowed themselves a moment to laugh before collecting their things from the side of the road. The only things they had left to defend themselves were Winnfield's pickaxe and a large rock that Tallahassee had found on the road. And since they were all a long while away from their desired destinations, without a working car in sight...

"Looks like we're hoofing it."


	6. Chapter 6

**WE CAN SHOOT IF WE WANT TO, WE CAN LEAVE OUR FRIENDS BEHIND  
'CAUSE OUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD, AND IF THEY'RE NOT DEAD,  
WELL THEY'RE STILL A WASTE OF TIME**

Winnfield stood in awe of the massive metal machine. It was perfect.

"God, can you imagine?" she muttered to herself.

"A tank?"

Tallahassee stood behind her, his eyes considering the broken down heap of junk. "Now, if the people driving this thing couldn't use it to take down zombies, what makes you think that you could?"

"I was just saying...It would be awesome."

"It would, but good luck gettin' around those tight suburban corners." He moved his hands as though driving a car, as he said this.

"Who needs corners when you have a tank?"

He nodded as he considered her point.

Remaining a spectator to the conversation, Columbus thought back to the new pair of survivors they had crossed paths with only hours ago. Despite being weapon and car-jacked by the two, the older of two sisters, Wichita, had caught his attention and now he couldn't stop thinking about her. Aside from Winnfield, she had been the first girl he'd seen since his neighbour had taken shelter in his apartment; only to turn into a zombie and try to eat him. He wasn't having the best luck with women. Plus, he couldn't see himself starting that kind of relationship with Winnfield. She was probably too old for him and he assumed that Tallahassee would probably shoot him – or in their current gun-less situation, clobber him to death with the rock he was holding – if he were to show that kind of inclination towards her.

The first young woman he comes across who seems potential girlfriend material and she leaves him for dead.

He broke from his thoughts as Winnfield and Tallahassee made their way back towards him, Winnfield laughing at something Tallahassee had said.

"Find anything yet, kid?" she asked him.

He shook his head.

"Ah, well. It's not that bad walking. A little slow, sure, but- Whoa, look at that!" she interrupted herself. She jogged over to a spot a few metres away from them.

Catching up to her, Columbus spotted the body of a zombie with a foot clenched in its mouth, stuck under the tires of a small Daewoo.

"Hey, that kind of reminds me of something," Columbus began once they continued walking down the road, "I saw this guy, a little while back, riding one of those 'serious-Tour-de-France' bikes, and he's peddling and the zombies head is like caught in the gear. You know, with the hair in the chain just like going around". He made a circular motion with his index finger.

"That is cool", Tallahassee laughed, "but I once saw this construction worker, I shit you not, and he's on a steamroller. You ever roll a tube of toothpaste up from the bottom?"

"Yeah, I always roll it up from the bottom", Columbus replied as if it was a stupid question.

"Well, the zombie's head is the cap."

Winnfield's expression flickered somewhere between amusement and disgust.

"Are you one of those guy's that always tries to one-up everyone else's story?" Columbus asked.

"No," Tallahassee defended, "I knew a guy way worse at that than me."

"Whatever, let's just find a car."

"Oh yeah, which reminds me. I never had headaches like this until your ass came on board. See Winnfield here? Quiet. Smart. Knows how and when to keep her yap-trap snapped..."

She looked over at him as he said this then exchanged glance with Columbus before facing forward once more. She was beginning to feel sort of useless; without any guns to shoot, no zombies to dispose of, or at least something to lug around with her, she was almost bored. Tallahassee was carrying her bag for her, having unloaded his own onto Columbus and all she had to carry was that same old pick-axe from earlier. And it wasn't even that heavy.

"...I mean, do what you want with a man, but _do not_ fuck with his Cadillac."

"Hey, there's a nice minivan."

Columbus stopped near the dark-green vehicle before beginning to approach it for a closer look. As long as it wasn't harbouring its previous driver, previously- _living_ driver, there was a fair chance that they could get it running and be on the road within a few minutes time.

But good-condition or not, it was still no Cadillac.

Tallahassee finally found some use for his rock, throwing it so hard through the back window that it managed to make it through to the other side. Spotting a crowbar by the van's front tire, he climbed up onto the bonnet and got to work on the other windows, the lights and whatever else he found smash-worthy.

Winnfield stood looking-on, with her arms folded across her stomach and that little, amused smile back on her face. Beside her, Columbus waited for the tantrum to be over, checking his watch and glancing around for something more interesting to look at.

"I want my Caddy back!" Tallahassee cried whilst taking out the taillights, "Stupid bitches!"

"Better out than in," Winnfield said to Columbus. He could only agree with her, hoping that this release of steam would stop Tallahassee from committing any heinous acts of aggression against him.

"He looks like a Neanderthal," Columbus commented. Tallahassee tossed the crowbar into the air behind him and jumped down.

"Yeah," Winnfield agreed absent-mindedly, with her eyes on the man in a different way.

"I think I pulled something," Tallahassee groaned, clutching the back of his thigh.

"Feel better, though?" Winnfield asked, clapping him gently on the shoulder.

"Much," he told her.

They walked on for a couple of metres before it became apparent that Tallahassee was not about to let go what had happened.

"You think the three of us are smart enough to come up with a con like that?"

Winnfield and Columbus exchanged doubtful looks.

"Oh, man. You hesitated," Tallahassee caught on.

"I don't understand people sometimes. It's not like we have to compete for anything. It's a giant free-for-all now."

"Did you ever see _Dawn of the Dead_?" Columbus asked, "People started turning against each other 'cause they're scared. I mean, how much do you really trust us?"

Tallahassee looked at her, waiting to hear her reply. She considered him, then smiled.

"I trust you guys. It's like war; you got my back, I got yours, no man gets left behind. I guess it's just easier to stick with what and who you know than to take a chance."

 _And sometimes it turns out better to take that chance_ , she wanted to add, glancing at Tallahassee again. As he turned his head to look at her, she flicked her eyes down to the road, pretending not to notice his smirk.

"Question: Is it better to be smart? Or lucky?" he suddenly asked.

He took off at a fast jog, Winnfield not far behind and Columbus trying his best to keep up with both Tallahassee's duffle-bag and his own suitcase in tow. They were moving into a more suburban-looking part of the town, near houses and parks. Winnfield spotted what Tallahassee had been talking about and was now grinning.

Slowing to a walk, Winnfield approached the big yellow Hummer eagerly, but Tallahassee put his arm out to halt her.

"Whoa-o-o," he stopped. Approaching the driver's side door cautiously, taking whatever chance he to act as 'the big-brave-man', he grabbed the doorhandle and pulled it open, revealing two severed hands still attached to the steering wheel.

"Heh-heh." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to pry the rigor mortised-hand off of its final position, but found that it had a rather tight grip. When he finally managed to remove it, he stepped back and showed it to Columbus, forcing up its middle finger at him.

"That's nice," Columbus frowned.

Winnfield took the opportunity to reach in past Tallahassee in order to remove the second hand. It came off just as smoothly as the first. Holding it under the wrist with a piece of cloth she'd found on the ground, she examined it curiously before turning to the man next to her.

"High-five!" he said. They slapped the pieces of dead-flesh together, then tried to get them to do fist-bumps.

"Hey, um, when you guys are done playing with some dead guy's hands, do you think maybe we could go?" Columbus asked.

Winnfield turned to give him a sheepish smile, but Tallahassee seemed to think it a good opportunity to use one of the hand's fingers to poke her in the cheek. She slapped it away and rubbed savagely at skin.

"That is so gross! You bastard!"

He dodged the hand that she threw at him and Columbus continued to look on, slowly growing used to the pair's morbid antics.

By the end of it, both parties were laughing like kids, but that wasn't the last of what their new vehicle had in store for them.

Realizing that he was going to be riding in the back again, Columbus opened the rear door, first checking for zombies, and noticed a large duffel bag on the seat.

"Hey, guys?"

"What?" Winnfield reached his side, her on his shoulder as she craned her neck for a look inside. Meanwhile, Tallahassee opened the opposite door and leaned in. Columbus unzipped the bag and pulled it open to reveal...a heck of a lot of guns.

"No. Way."

It was like Christmas had come early. Tallahassee was suddenly twelve years-old again. "Thank _God_ for rednecks! This is a _really_ big truck. And those are some _really_ big guns."

He was absolutely beaming.

Winnfield leant against the driver's side door as she watched him shoot off a couple of Uzis, before turning around to get to work on starting the car. Within seconds, the engine roared to life.

"Have you boosted many cars before?" Columbus asked her, suspiciously.

"When you're raised by three brothers, well... You pick shit up."

She hopped into the driver's seat, thought about it, then slid over into the passenger side. She'd let Tallahassee take this one, even if was to make him just that little bit happier.

* * *

As they had all been hoping, minutes later they were on the road, driving towards...well, just driving, really. But with a glance over at Tallahassee every now and then, Winnfield could tell from his determined grin what he had in mind.

"How do you expect to catch up with them?"

"They gotta stop some time."

"You know," Columbus began, leaning forward from the backseat, "they say 'He who seeks revenge should dig two graves.' "

"Right, two graves; one for the big chick, one for the little chick."

"You are scary happy," Columbus commented.

Tallahassee chuckled and nodded, playfully pushing Winnfield in the shoulder as she sat in the seat next to him shaking her head. His high spirits were contagious.

"Why can't we just forget about those girls and head home?" Columbus asked.

"Home?" Winnfield frowned.

"Well, you know, wherever home used to be."

"You wanna talk about home?" Tallahassee's good mood seemed to evaporate before their eyes. "Home for me was a...puppy named Buck. Cutest little dog ever."

Winnfield smiled, but as she looked closer, she could sense something in his eyes. She had always been good at picking up on when guys were lying. Not so much when girls were, it turned out. Then again she had never grown up with sisters. Her brow creased but she kept her thoughts to herself.

"And then all those fuckin' zombies...I lost him. And there ain't no gettin' him back. So, uh, I guess I'm looking for a new home. By tomorrow, we could maybe be skinny-dippin' in Yellowstone River."

He looked to Winnfield for her opinion on this activity. She did a poor job of suppressing a smirk.

"Aw, look at her blushin' ".

"Asshole."

"Alright, alright. Then maybe we could be swingin' from the chandeliers in the Playboy mansion," he suggested to Columbus.

"Zombie-bunnies," Winnfield thought aloud. Columbus screwed up his face at the thought.

"But today," Tallahassee continued, "We got us a Vortec six-litre, fuckin' V8, a box full of hollow-points and, God-willin' a G.D. Twinkie. Gotta enjoy the little things."

With a nod of agreement, Winnfield turned her head to look back at Columbus, and found him jotting something down on a piece of paper.

"What's that you got there?"

He glanced up.

"Uhh. Oh, it's nothing really. I just have this kind of list. My rules for surviving Zombieland."

"Mind if I take a look?"

He gave her one his nervous headshakes and passed the bit the pit of paper to her outstretched hand.

She scanned the list of thirty-two items, nodding every so often in approval. She passed them back to him.

"Well, they seem to have worked out for you this far. But what do you plan on doing with them? Give them to the next generations?"

"Next generations?" Tallahassee asked, finding the concept of having to repopulate the world both amusing and attractive.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I certainly hope that I do."

"Just keep driving."


	7. Chapter 7

**AMERICAN WOMAN, STAY AWAY FROM ME  
AMERICAN WOMAN, GOT MAD COW DISEASE**

The light in the sky was beginning to fade by the time they finally came across the two conniving sisters. Tallahassee's treasured Escalade sat abandoned in the middle of the road just ahead of them, but by now they knew better than to fall for whatever the girls had in store for them.

Tallahassee stopped the car and got out, grabbing a pair of high-powered binoculars from his duffel-bag. Winnfield and Columbus followed suit, standing beside him and gazing at the potential ambush up ahead.

"Knowing them, it's a trap," Tallahassee surmised. He passed the binoculars to Winnfield. "Wait here. Drive down if I signal."

He grabbed a gun from the back of the car and started walking down the road towards his old Cadillac.

"I don't feel right about this," Winnfield sighed, "Hop in the car kid. It's starting to get a little chilly, anyway."

Columbus, chewing nervously on the drawstring of his jumper, did as she suggested, but remained vigilant from the backseat. Winnfield stared down the binoculars at the car, but couldn't see any movement. She waited.

Tallahassee checked inside, underneath and then around the other side of the car, but there was no sign of either of the girls. Judging by the smoke coming from the engine, though, they had broken down and wouldn't be far off. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he made a whistling noise and then waved them down.

Winnfield waved back and hopped into the driver's seat. Shutting the door, she turned to Columbus, only to find that, somehow, Little Rock had managed to move stealthily towards the car, into the back seat and was now holding a gun to the sheepish-looking boy's head.

"Drive", she ordered sweetly.

Clenching her jaw, Winnfield could only obey.

Tallahassee smiled when she pulled up, but, for Columbus' sake, she couldn't tell him about the visitor in the back.

"I guess they must've hoofed it. Probably headed west", he said, jumping into the passenger seat, "Drive slow. Keep your eyes peeled."

When Winnfield didn't move, he glanced over and saw her staring hard at the wheel, hands clenched tightly around it.

"They're in the back, aren't they?"

"Just me."  
Little Rock popped up next to Columbus and pulled out her gun, previously Tallahassee's, to show that she meant business. She pushed it into Tallahassee's neck.

"Hey!" Winnfield warned her.

"You got taken hostage, two-to-one I might add, by a twelve year-old?"

"Don't look at me", Winnfield told him, "He was the one in the car."

"She was like a crouching tiger", Columbus defended. Winnfield sighed and rolled her eyes, leaning her elbow on top of the window and rubbing her eyes in irritation.

"Gun please," Little Rock ordered Tallahassee, holding out her hand.

"Yeah," he laughed, "like you know how to use-"

He was cut off as Little Rock fired the gun she was holding through the sunroof. Recovering from his flinch, Tallahassee shouted, "Don't kill me with my own gun!"

Fuming, he passed her the gun he had been carrying.

"Thank-you", she said, still with that innocent sweetness. She turned to Winnfield, "Now honk your horn."

Winnfield glared at her, but did as she was told.

Nearby, from behind a giant hay roll, Wichita emerged carrying Columbus' gun.

"Oh look, it's her sister," he said, "Hey!"

He waved a hand through the sunroof.

Wichita approached Winnfield on the driver's side door, catching her cheesed-off expression.

"Oh, bummer," she told her with mock-pity, "Now step away from the vehicle. You and him get in the back. Nervous guy can ride shotgun."

Winnfield threw open her door, but not quickly enough to hit the swift, smiling Wichita. She approached the rear door only to catch Little Rock shaking her head, gun pointed.

"Other side," the girl told her, "That way you two can't ambush me."

"Yeah," Winnfield chuckled sarcastically as she moved to the other door, " _Us_ ambush _you_."

* * *

The drive after that wasn't so bad; until Wichita put on a mix CD featuring the likes of Lady Gaga, the Pussycat Dolls and Christina Aguilera. Winnfield cringed as 'Hush Hush' started playing, then snorted.

"Problem?" Wichita asked, glancing at Winnfield via the rear-view mirror.

"Uh..." Winnfield began, not knowing where to start.

"I think what Winnfield is trying to say is 'This music blows'," Tallahassee helped.

"Driver's choice," Wichita told them.

"Do we get a choice of driver, then?" Tallahassee asked.

Winnfield grinned and looked into the rear-view to see how Wichita felt about this. She was glaring back at them.

"What happened to the Van Halen CD that was in there? You know, when _we_ found the car?" Winnfield asked.

"I tossed it", she replied casually. When she saw the look on Winnfield's face, she changed her answer.  
"I'm joking. It's on the dash. Man, you guys have got some _major_ anger issues."

"Imagine that," Winnfield huffed.

"And you two have some serious pilfering issues," Tallahassee shot back to the thief.

The conversation came to a halt after that. The tension inside the car was felt by all and it was starting to make Columbus uneasy. Looking at the almost professional way that Little Rock was holding her shotgun, he realised that these two girls could have killed them or at least left them on the side of the road. He supposed he owed them some gratitude.

"Thanks Wichita. Thanks Little Rock."

They both gave him weird looks.

While Little Rock was momentarily distracted, Tallahassee saw his chance. He grabbed the gun and reversed it, pointing it at her.

Wichita braked hard, causing everyone to jerk forward in their seats. She pulled a revolver out of nowhere and aimed it at Tallahassee. Jumping to his defence, Winnfield slid the knife from the sheath strapped to her leg and held it to Wichita's throat. It glinted in the light of the setting sun.

Wichita glanced from Tallahassee to Winnfield and then to her sister. Just when it seemed that nobody was prepared to back down, Columbus decided that enough was enough.

"Hey, for fuck's sake, enough already! We're being chased by ravenous freaks! 'Oh, they stole my hummer'. 'I don't like chart-topping Pop music.' 'We have trust issues'. Now get over it! We can't just fucking drive down the road playing 'I-Spy', or some shit for two hours, like five normal-ass Americans? Fuck me!"

"Whoa," Tallahassee commented, once the kid had finished his rant.

"I know," said Columbus, taking a breather.

"Let me be the mature one," Tallahassee offered, withdrawing the shotgun from the stand-off.

Winnfield put her knife away and Wichita turned around in her seat and got the car moving again.

"I appreciate you having my back, though," Tallahassee told Winnfield.

"Looks like I brought a knife to gunfight," she replied, doing a very poor impersonation of Sean Connery in _The Untouchables_.

It was just the thing they needed to break the tension. They erupted into nervous giggles. And even though Little Rock didn't really get the reference, it didn't take a film buff to judge a poor attempt at a Scottish accent.


	8. Chapter 8

**BLOODY HAZE ALL IN MY BRAIN  
LATELY THINGS JUST DON'T SEEM THE SAME  
ACTIN' FUNNY AND I DON'T KNOW WHY  
'SCUSE ME WHILE I SHOOT THIS GUY.  
**

 _Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me. To me. Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger; now he's dead._

Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ leaked from the CD player's speakers, heavily audible over the sound of the shower spray. A woman in her mid-twenties attempted to mimic the falsetto tones of Freddy Mercury, not entirely failing, but her efforts were best left for a sleazy karaoke bar on a slow Friday night.

"Goodbye, everybody. I've got to go! Gotta leave you all behind and faaaace the truuuth!"

There was a series of bangs on the bathroom door. Her room-mate, also her twin brother, had never really been fond of her unnecessarily loud singing.

Giggling, she turned off the taps, wrung the remainder of the water from her hair and stepped out of the shower. She grabbed one of the two white towels she had on hand and leaned forward so that she could wrap her hair in it. Once she'd secured the second towel around her body, she opened the door to tell him to go away.  
She froze.

His face was pale and his eyes wide. He was clutching his forearm, from which blood was trickling at a steady rate.

"Oh shit! What happened? Oh my God!"

He forced a smile, always one to try for a laugh even in the most dire of situations.

"Don't worry about getting the paper this morning."

A loud crash came from the front room.

"Quick! Close the door," he cried, pushing past her in a panic. He slammed the bathroom door closed and locked it, then leant back against it and slid down the floor below. His breathing was rapid and shaky. She turned and turned the music down so that she could hear him properly.

"Jonah, what happened?" she asked slowly.

"Sis, remember how we were talking that time, about what our worst nightmare would be?"

"Yeah, and you said 'a _Wham!_ revival band'?"

"Heh-heh. Yeah. Well..."

"Are you trying to tell me that you were attacked by a George Michael impersonator?"

"I was more referring to what you said."

She stared at him with a frown, trying to recall what she had told him.  
"Zombies...?"

"Yeah," he sighed.

She snorted.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Uhh..." He showed her the wound he was covering up with his hand. It was a bite.

The door began shaking behind him as something threw itself against the wood, and Jonah reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

"Here's the plan, baby-girl–" He stopped and began coughing violently, covering his mouth with the back of his sleeve. When he eventually stopped, he moved his arm away and looked down at the blood spattered on the material. The virus was working its way through him faster than he had anticipated.

The pounding on the door continued, but to no avail for the individual responsible.

"These are the keys to my truck. I want you to go through that window, run _as fast as you can_ and drive to somewhere safe. Now, go! You might want to get some clothes on first, though."

He turned to the side as he was overcome by another fit of violent coughing. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed her clothes and pulled them on, beginning to realize the true severity of the situation. When she was done, she looked down at the keys in her hands.

"I'm not leaving you here. Do you reckon you can climb through?" she gestured to the medium-sized window that sat above the bath.

"I got bit. I don't think I have a lot of time, you know. There's a shotgun in the back of the truck. A couple of boxes of ammo in the glove box. You'll be set until you get to wherever the safest place is right now. Go."

The blood vessels in Jonah's eyes began bursting, turning his whites red. She put a trembling hand to her mouth and turned to the window. Giving her hands a quick shake, she grasped the bottom of the window and pulled it open, sticking her head through for a quick glance around the yard before she pushed herself out. Tears trickled down her face, but she forced herself to move, knowing in that moment how real this was; her worst nightmare realized.

 _Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me. For me!_

The music continued to play from the bathroom, focusing the attention of whatever was trying to get in through the door, whilst also covering up any sound she made as she made her escape. Risking a glance back at her brother, she saw that he was now lying on his back, twitching like a fish out of water. She heard a shriek form across the street and saw her neighbor, a middle-aged man that was fond of hitting on her at inappropriate moments, running from his house as his wife chased him with outstretched arms. Blood was pouring from the woman's mouth as she snarled viciously at her prey.

Gathering her thoughts, the girl ran for her brother's truck, ears pricked for the sound of anything chasing after her. She was in luck. The houses were well-spaced in her neighborhood, acres apart in most cases. The only people she had to worry about were those across the street, and the newspaper deliveryman that had smashed his way into her brother's home.

Just as Jonah had promised, a shotgun lay in the truck's bed, along with a couple of hunting knives he hadn't mentioned, and a few landscaping tools she couldn't see any use for.

She climbed into the driver's seat, locked the doors and fumbled with the keys before finally managing to shove one into the ignition. It roared to life. The radio came on, playing R.E.M.'s _It's the End of the World As We Know It_.

She paused, staring down at the CD player before quickly switching it off. _Too much_ , she thought.

She took a moment to breathe, smoothing her still-damp hair back against her head. She leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel before she was startled by a sudden ' _whack!_ ' that came from the opposite side of the car.

Her brother had managed to climb through the bathroom window and was now attempting to get into the passenger seat.  
Only, it wasn't her brother anymore. It was something else. A bleeding, ravenous being. He smacked his hand onto the window, leaving a streak of clotted blood, and then tried the handle. She was glad she had locked it.

Grabbing the shotgun from the seat next to her, she made sure it was loaded. It was.  
The thing that had once been her brother continued trying to find a way into the vehicle. She had to act fast. Just as Jonah smashed his arm through the window, she fired at him with scream of anguish. The buckshot shattered the glass completely and sent her brother flying backwards.

* * *

Winnfield woke with a start. The sound of the shotgun blast echoed in her memory. Her head had been resting on Tallahassee's shoulder and as he felt the weight of it leave him, he looked down at her. She realized that she must have had a startled look on her face, because his own expression was one of concern. She glanced up at him, and then over at Little Rock, who was frowning but for once it wasn't in contempt. That's when Winnfield realized that everyone in the car was staring at her. She realized she had screamed out loud. Wichita had slammed on the brakes, and the jerk of the car suddenly coming to a halt had brought Winnfield back to the land of the living...well, mostly-living.

"Everything okay back there?" Wichita asked, her voice tinged with kind of concerned sarcasm. Columbus, whose lost-puppy eyes had a slightly worried look in them, turned back to the front and leaned forward to get something out of the bag by his feet.

Winnfield cleared her throat and accepted the bottle of water that Columbus was now offering her. "Thanks. Uh, fine. Bad dream."

"I'll say," Tallahassee commented, eyeing her suspiciously as though he knew that she wasn't telling them the whole story. She turned her attention to the window and the landscape that began to pass quickly by as Wichita began driving forward once more. It took her a moment to realize that it was dark outside and that she couldn't make out much of anything that they were passing. She gave an audible sigh and closed her eyes once more as she rested her head back against the headrest.

Columbus and Tallahassee exchanged looks, but they continued on in silence for the next few miles.

* * *

Winnfield felt the car slowing to a halt again, but she wasn't sure how much time had passed. Her neck felt stiff from falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position. As she bent her head side-to-side to try to fix the crick, she realized that Wichita and Columbus, who was still riding shotgun, were having 'a moment'. Columbus glanced out his open door, towards a car that sat on the side of the road. The car was in pretty good nick, considering the circumstances and what had probably happened to original owner. He looked at the car, and then looked back at Wichita. He had wanted to drive back to Ohio to see if there was any hope of recovering his family. It didn't seem likely.  
He shut the door and remained where he was. Why take the chance when all he'd ever really wanted was sitting right beside him? Wichita seemed pleased enough by his decision, and the car began moving again.

Looking at the man beside her, Winnfield found him now resting his head on her shoulder, fast asleep. A little bit of drool had escaped from the corner of his mouth and left a dark patch on her shirt. She grimaced, but it was a soft grimace which melted into a little smile. It was nice to have the comfort of human contact, even if said human was soaking her arm with his saliva.

From the rear-view mirror, Wichita caught Winnfield's eye and they exchanged the briefest of smiles.

For just a moment, it seemed possible that everything would turn out alright. Winnfield allowed the small bit of hope to lift her spirits; there was no point being pessimistic, even if everyone she had ever known and loved was borderline-dead.

* * *

They had been driving for hours when Tallahassee finally woke up. Although it was dark outside, he still seemed anxious to get out of the cramped space.

"We're gonna have to pull over soon," he announced to everyone as he stretched, invading both Winnfield and Little Rock's personal space, "I'm feeling cooped up."

They passed a big road sign advertising a Native American souvenir shop just up ahead. They were making good time, already passing through Arizona, but Winnfield wasn't really sure where it was they were headed. She had been asleep for most of the drive, since the sisters had taken over and had missed a lot of the conversation that had taken place. When she was really honest with herself though, she really didn't care _where_ they went, as long as it was _somewhere_. She was tired of the aimlessness of her post-America life. Zombieland offered some challenges, like the inconvenience of people constantly trying to eat you, but her real purpose felt depleted. She didn't have any family to look out for anymore, and she no longer had the everyday worries that once plagued the average person. She should have felt liberated, but when you couldn't even sleep without the fear of having your face bitten off, it was a little difficult.

"That'll do," Tallahassee said, nodding towards the small lot of buildings by the road in front of them.

They pulled over and each grabbed whichever gun was closest to them. Walking across the crunchy, dirt road, everyone was at their most vigilant. This part was always the most dangerous; the half-way point between one safe place and the next. Even if they were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, with no other cars in sight and in dead silence, there was always that chance of a stray zombie.

Once they were all positioned on the wooden porch of the main store, they stared at the open front door.

"Okay, who wants to go first?" Tallahassee asked. The others stared at him. Winnfield paused, giving Columbus the chance to take this opportunity to impress Wichita, but when he shook his head, she stepped forward.

"I got this one," she told them. She had stuffed a handgun in the back of her jeans, but the weapon she had opted for was the trusty pickaxe she had kept since their little run-in back at the grocery store. Using the pointed tip, she tapped the little bell above the door that had once been used to alert the owners of incoming customers. Now the bell was being used to alert the customers of any incoming owners. Just as she'd thought, a bloodied man stepped out from behind the shelves and gave a deep, hungry growl. Not a lot of flesh to eat around this neck of the woods.

Winnfield swung the pickaxe back and remained to the side of the door. The pose she held looked a lot like a baseball player waiting for a fast ball. She was determined to hit a home run.  
The moment the zombie's foot crossed onto the porch, Winnfield swung. The point of the pickaxe made its way through the centre of the man's head with enough force to bring him off his feet and onto his back. For some reason, despite the gun she already had on her and the small armory they had in the back of the hummer, Winnfield began trying to pull the pickaxe from the zombie's skull, but it was wedged in good and tight. She put her foot on his face to hold his head still, but that didn't seem to be helping. Just as she gave a good yank, he grabbed her by the ankle and gave another growl. She seemed to have forgotten 'Rule #2' on Columbus' list: 'Double Tap'.

"You little bastard!" Winnfield scowled at the decomposing-yet-animated body , sounding more put out than angry. She tried to shake him off, but to no avail.

"Hold still," Tallahassee said, though she wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the squirming zombie. He stood on its arm and ended it once and for all with a blast from his shotgun. "You alright?" he asked Winnfield, as she smoothed back her hair. She bent down and gave the pickaxe another good tug, this time freeing it from the bloody cavity.

"Yeah, I'm good," she replied.

"Alright then, let's have a look-see, shall we?"

He stepped past her and into the store, oblivious to the fact that he'd just walked through a pool of brains. Wichita, Little Rock and Columbus followed suite, carefully avoiding the gory mess.

"Wow, this is really overpriced. Do you think they really expect people to pay two hundred dollars for a candle holder?" Columbus asked, picking up one of the so-called 'souvenirs'.

"Well you're in luck, kid. For today only it's 100% off storewide," Winnfield replied.

Wichita began browsing the stand of assorted hats, trying a couple on for the fun of it, while her little sister became absorbed in staring at the snow globes. Of course, the first place Tallahassee went was the weapons display, which held a number of spears and tomahawks. Winnfield spotted a display of crystals and found a necklace that looked almost the exact same as the one she had once worn, the one which now hung around Tallahassee's neck. She placed the one in her hand back onto the shelf and looked over at the man who had managed to lure her out of the one place she had felt safe.

"Is that perfume?" Tallahassee asked Columbus as he walked up to him.

"It's cologne," Columbus told him, frowning at the idea of having sprayed himself with something so feminine.

"I'm thinking..." – he sniffed at the air to place the scent – " _Lancôme Magnifique_."

Columbus decided it was probably not in his best interest to point out the fact that it was weird for Tallahassee to be so specific, after all, Columbus enjoyed life; but when he noticed that Wichita was close enough to be within earshot of Tallahassee's comments, he had to say something to stop him. Bad idea.

"Why don't you speak up, they might've missed it in Santa Fe."

Tallahassee caught him glance over at Wichita again and managed to put two and two together...in his own way.

"Oh. My. God. You're thinking about fucking Wichita," he said, only bothering to lower his voice ever so slightly.

"Oh yeah, like you haven't spent the _entire_ trip trying to get Winnfield's attention."

Tallahassee gave him a look that said 'If you ever bring this up again, I will publicly castrate you', a look that shut Columbus up quick smart. "Well, good luck picking her up when you smell like a fuckin' daisy."

He turned away to see what Winnfield was up to, when he felt a spray of wet-mist hit the back of his neck. If the look on his face earlier had scared Columbus, the one he had on now was terrifying.

"Let me begin my three-part apology by saying that you are a wonderful human being..." Columbus began, clutching the offending bottle of perfume.

Winnfield looked on as Tallahassee slugged Columbus in the arm, sending the considerably smaller male backwards into an intricately decorated vase. The scene reminded her of her brothers, when they had all been kids and had played a game that involved punching each other in the arm with gradually-increased strength until someone chickened out. The phrase 'dead-arm' flashed in her mind and she quickly pushed the thought away.

Tallahassee had quickly forgotten his anger, his mind now set firmly on destruction. "Go on, break another", he encouraged.

Knowing that he now had Wichita's attention, Columbus knocked over another vase, and then one of the 'two-hundred dollar' candle holders. The sound of shattering porcelain began to fill the store, followed by glass and then anything else that was even remotely breakable. Following Tallahassee's earlier example, Columbus found that mindless destruction really did make you feel better.

Winnfield was only a spectator at first, watching with a smile as Little Rock tossed snow globes on the ground, and Columbus and Wichita threw beads at one another. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Tallahassee, who held out a long-handled tomahawk, smiling as though he were passing her a bouquet of flowers. She accepted the gift and they set off together, battering glass display cabinets and mounted animal heads.

By the end of it, the store was in total ruin and everyone was exhausted; spirits were higher and for a moment they were almost able forget about the apocalypse that awaited them outside.


	9. Chapter 9

**TWINKIE, TWINKIE, LITTLE BAR  
HOW I WONDER WHERE YOU ARE**

After what turned out to be a relatively good bonding experience, the fivesome returned to their mode of transport. Wichita seemed to have developed enough trust to allow someone else to drive while she got some sleep, so Winnfield volunteered to take the wheel. Of course, Tallahassee called shotgun.  
Columbus, Little Rock and Wichita were all asleep in the backseat when they hit the California state border. Before she had settled down to sleep, Little Rock had explained that she and her sister had made plans to revisit _Pacific Playland_ , an amusement park they had gone to as kids, and that Winnfield should aim to keep driving towards Los Angeles. Winnfield was happy to oblige, and so here she found herself; in a quiet car, on a quiet road, in a quiet world.

Except when you were seated next to Tallahassee, silence didn't last very long.

"So, about earlier. You know, when you woke up screamin' and all, what was that all about?" he asked, trying his best to sound casual, "I mean, if it's a sore subject or whatever, I get it..."

"It's okay. I should probably get it off my chest at some stage, huh?"

As a result of her particular choice of words, Tallahassee's eyes flicked down to her chest, but she was too busy keeping a lookout for undead stragglers on the road to notice.

"Yeah. I heard it's good for your health," he agreed.

"Remember when I mentioned earlier that I had a brother, and that he got bit?"

Tallahassee nodded.

"Well, I was dreaming about that. When I first realized that all this was really happening. That people were actually turning into zombies and trying to eat their neighbors. That life would never be the same ever again."

Tallahassee didn't know what to say that could add to her words; she had basically nailed the way _he_ had first felt about it, too. But at the same time he didn't want to just let that thought linger in silence. It was too heavy to just leave open. Fortunately, Winnfield solved the problem for him.

"What smells like perfume?" she asked. She had on a little lop-sided smile as she said it, a smile that made him smile.

"I didn't put it on, that fuckin' kid Columbus sprayed me like a skunk."

"I was going to say it smells nice, is all," Winnfield told him. Sensing an awkward moment brewing for herself she segued into a different topic. "Speaking of smelling nice, I can't wait to find some place with working showers. Right now, I wouldn't even mind bathing in a goddamn river."

"I'm a bath man, myself," Tallahassee said, "Nothing like a soak in the tub to relieve tense muscles."

And the conversation continued on like this for the next few miles. Both were careful to not mention any more on the subject of zombies, family or the apocalypse.

* * *

Tallahassee switched spots with Winnfield a short while after. As they were passing through the aptly-named town of Hell, just outside Los Angeles, not far from the Joshua Tree National Park, a group of three or four zombies strolled out onto the road in front of them. Tallahassee cursed, while Winnfield woke-up the three kids in the back seat. She told them what was going on and calmly asked Columbus to pass her the semi-automatic shotgun. Although shotguns weren't usually her choice of weapon due to their two round capacity, this particular shotgun, a Remington, could hold five rounds at any one time. She thanked God for the myriad of knowledge that her brothers had passed on to her.

She slid out of her seat and jogged up to a spot that she considered to be a good range. Setting down on one knee, she waited for the zombies to get a little closer before she began blasting away. Watching from their seats in the car, the others could see that she had considerable aim; but Winnfield called luck on that. She had missed with the first shot, and had very nearly missed on the fourth, taking just enough of the zombie's neck away to classify it as 'decapitation'.

Once she had finished, she paused in the middle of the road, breathed a huge sigh of relief through pursed lips, and thanked whoever was watching over her for letting her live past this latest confrontation. She received a few smiles of appreciation for her efforts when she returned to the car, and then they were back on their way to LA. Just another night in Zombieland.

Tallahassee was careful to make sure he drove right over the heads of the annihilated zombies, just to make sure. You know; 'Double Tap'.

But after that little event, everyone remained awake for the rest of the trip. It was hard to find that sense of peace when someone had just shaken you out of your sleep to tell you that things that wanted to eat your flesh were blocking the road and heading right for you.

Nothing a lavender-scented candle and a glass of warm milk couldn't fix, right?

"You know, I think sleep deprivation is America's number one health problem," Columbus thought aloud, sensing the general sluggishness of everyone in the car.

They passed a group of zombies, who were huddled around a corpse munching away like they hadn't eaten for weeks.

"Uh, no, I think that might be number two," Wichita commented as one of the zombies raised its head like a grazing cow.

"Heh heh, 'number two'..." Tallahassee chuckled childishly.

"I wonder if we'll see anyone famous lurking around," Winnfield said.

"Like who, George Clooney?" Tallahassee asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of...Anne Hathaway, or...whatsername...Scarlet Johanssen."

"You ain't a lesbian, are you?"

"Why? Just 'cause I mentioned two girls?"

"Just checkin'. I knew this girl once, real nice. Had the greatest pair of..." – his hand hovered around his chest and he gave himself a mental kick, quickly raising his hand to tap his head – "Personalities."

"You knew a real nice girl with split-personality disorder?" Winnfield asked him.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Tallahassee continued, giving her a half-hearted look of annoyance for interrupting his story. Winnfield tipped a quick wink to the three in the back before giving him her full attention.

"One minute she was all flirty, and the next she had her tongue down the throat of the girl that used to work the checkout at the local grocery store."

"Fascinating," Wichita commented in a bored drawl, "We could have avoided that whole story if you'd just said 'Brad Pitt'."

"You know, I'm not really a Brad Pitt fan," Winnfield told her.

"Are you kidding?" Columbus said, "Even _I'm_ a Brad Pitt fan, I mean..."

Realising how he'd just sounded, he shut his mouth and sat back and directed his gaze out the window to avoid the weird looks that everyone was giving him.

"On a slightly straighter note," Winnfield began, at which Tallahassee chuckled again, "I agree with Columbus's earlier point. We should probably find somewhere to crash for a while. Somewhere with actual beds."

"Well, in a world just full 'o possibilities, it should at least be somewhere with style," Tallahassee agreed.

"What have you got in mind?" Winnfield asked.

He stopped the car in front of the Chinese Theatre. "Columbus, how's about running on out there and gettin' us one of them maps?"

Columbus's face froze at the idea of leaving the relative-safety of the car.

"Don't worry, kid," Winnfield smiled, "I'll come with you."

They jumped out and made a run for it, towards the little stand that held the maps; Columbus as the procurer and Winnfield as the armed support. She shot down a Marilyn Monroe impersonator and dodged a snarling Charlie Chaplin.

"Got it!" Columbus called. He turned around and nearly ran straight into the claw-like grasp of a zombie-jogger. His face pulled into a grim mask of horror: this was it; he was going to be eaten by a Jane Fonda Fitness Class fan.

But then the butt of a gun came down against the side of the zombie's head and a long, athletic leg kicked into its stomach, sending it to the ground. Winnfield grabbed Columbus by the arm and pulled him towards the car. He jumped in through the back door, which was being held open and defended by Wichita. Winnfield had to make her way over to the other side. Here, she was confronted by a green-tinged Elvis impersonator. The other watched from inside the car as she tried the gun-butt-to-the-head trick again, but to no avail this time. The zombie grabbed her arm and she dropped the gun.

"God damn it," she cursed through a clenched jaw. While Elvis snapped his flesh-encrusted teeth at her, she managed to pull her machete from its sheath on her belt. She gave a growl that matched the zombie's, and cut off his arm at the elbow. Reaching her open hand into the car, Tallahassee passed her a revolver without her having to ask, while she kept her eyes on the dis-armed zombie. A quick shot to its head ended the little foray.

"Thank you very much," Winnfield told the corpse in a drawl that mocked his former profession, before climbing into her seat. She locked the door and leant forward, resting her head on her folded arms, atop the dashboard, machete still in hand.

"Phew," she commented, masking the true extent of her alarm, "Close call.

"Alright?" Tallahassee asked.

For a brief moment she thought she was going to throw-up, but she managed to hold the bile down. She breathed a couple of silent, shaky breaths and sat up straight, replacing the knife in its sheath and giving the appearance of what she hoped was the most confident girl in the world.

"Yep, let's go."

No one in the car was convinced.

She reached a shaky hand to her forehead to wipe the nervous sweat away and, in doing so, smeared some of Elvis's mucky blood onto her skin.

"Uh, you got some...uh," Tallahassee frowned, gesturing to his forehead. Columbus, ever resourceful, passed forward a travel-pack of Kleenex. Using a bit of water from the water bottle he had given her earlier, Winnfield managed to clean herself up.

"So, whose house are we gate-crashing?" she asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

Feeling only slightly better about her state of mind, Tallahassee drove onward, towards his intended destination.

"I got someone in mind," he assured them, pocketing the map that had very nearly cost Winnfield her life.

* * *

 **B.M.**

Those were the big golden letters that were fixed onto the cast-iron gates that cordoned off the house just beyond them from any unwanted visitors.

"B.M.?" Columbus asked. He was expecting something more along the lines of T.C. or maybe even just a big 'O', but B.M. stumped him.

Winnfield, on the other hand, was struck by the initials almost instantly.

"Really?" she asked Tallahassee, like a kid whose parents had just revealed a trip to Disneyland.

"Really," Tallahassee nodded.

"I don't get it," Little Rock said, her face crumpled with confusion, "Whose place is this?"

"I'll tell you this much. It ain't Bob Marley's."

Tallahassee managed to pry open the front gate with a crowbar, which proved an easier task than it should have been, since someone had cut off the power to the gate. He had forced Columbus to get out and help him, but all the anxious boy had managed to do was stand beside him and look hopeless. The ride up the smooth, white, concrete driveway was zombie-free, but that didn't stop them from loading up on as much ammunition and guns as they could carry. The front door to the house was locked, which surprised them a little, but it was nothing that Winnfield couldn't deal with, using yet another skill her brothers had passed on to her. Tallahassee had suggested kicking the door in, but Wichita pointed out that they would probably want to shut the door securely behind them in case they'd been followed by a horde or two.

"Alright, that should be..." Winnfield gave the screwdriver she had jammed into the lock a firm whack with the palm of her hand, and the door swung open. She grinned proudly and yanked the screwdriver out in case there were other doors inside that required the same treatment. "Age before beauty," she said to Tallahassee, gesturing for him to make his way in. He chuckled sarcastically, but went in anyway, his sawed-off at the ready.

Stepping through into the house, they were met with a grand staircase that led up to a second floor. The ground level had marble flooring and the walls were just as white as the driveway. They were surrounded with furniture and various items which all looked like genuine antiques. Overall, the house screamed 'money'.

"This place is amazing," Wichita commented, as they walked down a short hallway that led into a finely furnished living space.

"Welcome to Le Mansion de Murray," Tallahassee announced with a grin.

"Oh, Bill Murray," Columbus said, as though he was neither surprised nor impressed by the revelation.

An Andy Warhol-like artwork of Bill Murray's face, which would have been a dead giveaway as to the owner of the house anyway, sat on the wall closest to them. On another wall nearby was a different portrait, this time of Bill atop a large white horse. Either way, they would have worked it out eventually...well, maybe not Little Rock.

"Who's Bill Murray?" she asked.

Tallahassee looked at her as though she had just said 'There's a zombie apocalypse going on?' For a moment, he didn't quite know how to respond to her; to him it was almost blasphemy.

"That's like asking 'Who's Ghandi?'" he managed to say, shocked by her ignorance.

"Who's Ghandi?" she asked, shrugging yet again and glancing around at the others.

"Alrighty, let's see what we can find around here," Winnfield suggested. They made their way into the kitchen, searching through the cupboards and pantry for anything remotely edible. There were a couple of things, but unfortunately for Tallahassee...

"No Twinkies", Winnfield said.

"Shit, fuck!" He smacked his hands down on the kitchen bench with disappointment. Twinkies were starting to seem like an endangered species in Zombieland; not like back in Ye Olde American days, when they were around with abundance. Either Bill Murray had finished of his stocks of the spongy food, or he hadn't had any to start with. Not that it mattered; in the end Tallahassee was still Twinkie-less.

"Hey, inside voices," Columbus advised, "At least until we know for sure that we're alone."

"Okay, Tallahassee, Wichita, why don't you two take that way?" Winnfield said, pointing to the left of them, "We'll take the other side. It'll be easier if we split up to search."

"Wait, what? Why do I gotta go with her?" Tallahassee asked, having expected to be paired with the same woman that was taking charge of the situation. She raised an eyebrow at him, a little smile playing at her lips.

"Well, I think it would be better if I go with the youngest" – she nodded towards Little Rock – "and the..." She looked at Columbus, the words 'weakest' and 'most-nervous' springing to mind as he looked back with mildly-confused innocence. "And Columbus," she finished.

Little Rock gave her a look that said 'I don't need a babysitter', but she decided not to argue. After seeing Winnfield take down both 'Elvis' and the other zombies that had gotten in their way, and with a relatively cool head too, she knew it was better for her health if Winnfield led the charge.  
Tallahassee furrowed his brow and looked like he wanted to dispute the allocation, but he was quickly shut down by Winnfield's concluding comment.

"Besides, we'll have time later for R and R, or... whatever takes our fancy."

Without giving him a backwards glance, she moved off in the direction she had set for her 'team'.

"Whatever," Wichita sighed, then called after them, "But shotgun having the first shower if there's a working water system here." She said 'shotgun' like she meant it quite literally, especially since she was adequately equipped to back up such a threat.

* * *

"Why didn't you go with Tallahassee?"

Winnfield kicked in a door and entered the room beyond it gun-first. Once she was satisfied that it wasn't occupied by the living dead, she gave Columbus a reply.

"Why didn't you go with Wichita?"

He stared at her, working over her answer in his mind and then gave a 'fair enough' nod. She continued to lead the way down a long corridor, a serious look of concentration on her face. Columbus had noticed that she'd changed a little since her encounter with the Elvis-impersonator; she wasn't joking around as much and she seemed a lot less crazy than his earlier impressions of her. He liked her better when she was goofing around, though; now, with her extra caution, she was a continuous reminder of what might be lying in wait around the next corner.

"He's a bit old for you, isn't he?" Little Rock commented. Winnfield flattened herself against the wall at the very end of the corridor and gestured for the others to do the same. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the next room and found the area empty.

"All clear", she said. "And no. Not really."

Little Rock raised a judging eyebrow, but any further questions were wiped from her mind when she spotted a popcorn machine by the door of the adjoining room.

"He has his own movie theatre?"

Columbus approached the room with awe and lowered his gun when there were no signs of movement from inside it. "Come on, Little Rock. I'm going to teach you a little something about Bill Murray."

"You two go ahead," Winnfield told them when Columbus turned to see if she was joining them, "I'll get the popcorn." Noticing that there weren't any bowls or tubs by the popcorn machine, she walked all the way back down to the kitchen to retrieve one. Locating a large metal bowl in one of the lower cupboards, she was struck by the urge to check in on Wichita and Tallahassee.

Entering the living room, she was met by a very surreal scene: Tallahassee and Wichita had an end each of a large hookah pipe, while Bill Murray stood between them lighting it up. They all glanced over at her when she accidentally knocked the metal bowl against the wall, making an echoing 'GONG' sound. Winnfield would have found it absolutely hilarious if she hadn't been so struck by Bill Murray's presence. She squeezed her eyes closed and then stretched them wide. Nope, he was real.

"There's plenty to go round," he said, breaking her from her daze. "Any more people lurking around in my house that I should know about?" He didn't sound angry, but asked in a good-humored kind of way.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about just breaking in. We thought you'd be..."

"Zombified?"

Taking in his get-up for the first time, Winnfield saw that he had dressed the part. That Bill, always with the jokes.

"Holy crap. I'm actually in a room with Bill Murray."

He smiled, the same kind of humble smile he'd given to millions of fans before.

From over by the hookah pipe, Tallahassee sucked in a huge breath of the smoke, held it in like a pro and then blew it out. He offered the pipe to Winnfield, but she shook her head.

"Uh, I have to go...I need to get back to...the others'll be wondering where I got to, so..."

Still a bit shocked by her proximity to the big Hollywood star, she slowly backed away. She turned back in the direction of the corridor leading back to the theatre room, her head remained pointed towards him as though she couldn't tear her eyes away. When she finally did manage to face forward, she nearly ran head-on into the wall. Giggling nervously and glancing back to see the reaction of the onlookers to her clumsy little moment, she quickly disappeared around the corner. Tallahassee grinned at her, and then proceeded to take another hit of the pipe.

When she finally got back to Columbus and Little Rock, they had already started watching _Ghostbusters_ , which Little Rock hadn't seen before. Winnfield took a seat beside Little Rock and stared down at the floor. Feeling their gazes on her, she turned her head and saw that they had equal expressions of puzzlement.

"What took you so long?" Columbus asked.

"And why didn't you get any popcorn?" Little Rock added.

Winnfield looked down at the metal bowl in her hand and, sure enough, she'd forgotten the very thing she'd set out to acquire.


	10. Chapter 10

**SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BLAME  
YOU GIVE FUN A BAD NAME  
**

' _35 feet long, weighing approximately 600 pounds.'_

' _That's a big Twinkie.'_

 _Ghostbusters_ was just as great as Winnfield remembered; she laughed at all the lame jokes, and even gave a chuckle every now and then at the bad '80s special effects. She hadn't told Columbus and Little Rock about her strange encounter in the living room, mainly because she didn't know how to put it into words. How do you casually work that into a conversation, let alone into an engaged silence?  
'Oh, by the way, when I was getting a bowl for the popcorn, I found Wichita and Tallahassee in the living room smoking weed with Bill Murray'?

She hadn't quite gotten over the fact that she'd exchanged words with one of her all-time favourite actors, and in his own house, too.

"So, your sister's single, right?" Columbus asked Little Rock, breaking the comfortable quiet, "Nothing long distance or anything?"

Winnfield tore her eyes away from the film to give him one of her playfully-questioning raised eyebrows. How he expected Wichita to have maintained a long-distance relationship with some guy she had known before the collapse of civilisation, she had no clue; but she could see that Columbus was just trying to be smooth and nonchalant about things. Unfortunately, at least from Winnfield's point of view, he wasn't capable of being either of those things. He was amusing, though, she'd give him that. Little Rock didn't seem to think so, but she humoured him anyway with a shake of her head; no, Wichita was not in a relationship.

"And if she had, like, a type – if you can have a type – what would that be?"

"She kinda goes for the bad boys," Little Rock replied.

"Really?"

"Yep."

Sensing an opportunity to show he had a rebellious side, (which was a big lie), Columbus 'accidentally' knocked their newly acquired bowl of popcorn to the ground, spilling the contents all over the nice, clean floor. "Whoops."

"Hey! What...urgh." Little Rock rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"It's alright, I'll go get more from the machine", Winnfield said. She got out of her seat and bent down to retrieve the bowl. As she did this, her t-shirt pulled up to reveal a little tattoo on the small of her back. It was a pair of interlocking wings, and in the middle of them, strung close together like a crossword, were four names. Columbus recalled Winnfield saying that she had three brothers, and he realised that, somewhere in this tattoo, was her real name. He narrowed his eyes to try to read the elegant script better. _Jonah. Lewis. Michael. H-_

Winnfield stood up before he could properly read the last name. He couldn't imagine her being any of the first three names, so he had just missed discovering her true name. There was something very unsatisfying about this failed attempt, as though he had missed out on some exclusive, secret information.

As Winnfield strode out of the room, Columbus followed her with his eyes, now intrigued about what letters came after that 'H'. His moving gaze came to a halt as he locked eyes with Little Rock, who was giving him an odd look. She thought he had been giving Winnfield the old once-over.

"I wasn't...I just...Didn't you see...?" But like so many other times in his life, the right words failed to present themselves.

* * *

Winnfield stepped outside the little theatre and approached the machine that sat over by the wall. She pressed the button that warmed up fresh popcorn and heard voices coming towards her from the hallway. Her natural instinct was to whip out the only weapon she had on her at that moment, which happened to be her knife, but logical reasoning quickly kicked in and she remembered that zombies couldn't actually talk. Putting the knife away, she refocused on her original task and turned her head as the voices drew closer.

"So Columbus is the scared one?"

It was Bill Murray again.

Winnfield felt a little pang of excitement and then reminded herself that in a world full of animated corpses, this really wasn't the time to geek out.

"Yeah, he's like a little bunny," Wichita's voice replied.

The post-hookah three stepped out from the corridor and spotted Winnfield restocking the snack supplies. Each of them were pleasantly and only slightly noticeably high.

Tallahassee put a finger to his lips to tell Winnfield to keep it quiet. He was finding whatever they had planned, very amusing. "We're gonna play a little prank on Shirley in there," he whispered, and Winnfield knew that he didn't mean Little Rock.

A tiny warning light went off somewhere in Winnfield's mind as she watched Bill zombie-walk his way into his private cinema, but she ignored it, too entertained to care about the questionable logic behind the prank. As a loud shot rang out, she knew she should have trusted her gut instinct, the instinct that had kept her alive in Zombieland for so long. Tallahassee and Wichita's eyes widened in alarm and Winnfield dropped the bowl she was holding, the sound of it clattering to the ground bringing them out of their stunned dazes long enough to race into the room.

Columbus was up from his seat, a smoking shotgun in his hands and a look of determination on his face. As soon as he heard Wichita's gasp, he knew that she wasn't about to thank him for saving her little sister's life.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I shot Bill Murray." Realisation began to sink in while the healthier, on-screen version of Bill discussed the best way to dispel Slimer from the Sedgewick Hotel. In reality, he lay on the floor with buck-shot littered inside his chest, alive but certainly not well.

"Is that the way you say 'Hello' where you come from?" he asked Columbus.

Everyone gathered around him, crouching and sitting beside him with grim expressions.

"I don't think we're going to be able to stitch this," Tallahassee said as he pulled back a little bit of Bill's shirt for a better look at the wound.

"Well, death is the ultimate punch line, right?" Winnfield thought aloud, "And since you're a comedian..."

She received a number of awkward looks.

"Not as comforting as you might think," Bill wheezed.

"If it means anything now, I am so sorry," Columbus said, his facing pulling into the miserable-puppy expression that was beginning to seem like his natural appearance. "It was just instinctive."

The ensuing silence was broken by Wichita, who seemed to want to find some way to brighten the gloomy mood, though this was near impossible. "Do you have any regrets?"

Bill thought about this before replying, " _Garfield_ , maybe."

Winnfield grinned, but the moment of humour was short-lived as Bill began coughing and wheezing his last breaths. Winnfield was so suddenly overcome with memories of her brother, Jonah's horrible zombification process that she had to leave the room. She had gotten so used to suppressing her emotions since the zombie uprising that she was amazed by the rush of feelings pulsing through her mind. Of course, it had been easier maintaining an emotionless existence when she had been by herself.

To her surprise, it was Columbus that came out to check on her. When he noticed her somewhat inquiring expression, he said, "Tallahassee's gonna carry the body out. He's, uh, wrapping it up in one of the cinema curtains."

"Nice."

"Yeah. Real classy way to go."

They both smiled, but it was a tense, forced process.

"How come you left?" He couldn't really believe that it was because of the blood and gore, especially after some of the things he'd witnessed her do.

"You ever think of your family? I mean... have you ever had that moment when you just stop and realise how fucked up everything has become?"

"I used to have those moments _before_ this happened," Columbus replied, "I guess it's what being in the army would feel like." Winnfield frowned but nodded to show that she was listening. "You don't feel so bad when you're shooting at the bad guys..."

"But then one of your guys catches friendly fire..."

"Yeah."

"Ah well, kid, what's done is done. Let's leave it at that."

"You're surprisingly optimistic sometimes," Columbus smiled.

"Yeah, well..." Winnfield told Columbus before going to retrieve her gun from where she had left it on the floor of the home cinema.

Tallahassee bustled through the doors at that moment with the suspicious looking bundle in his arms. He didn't seem to be having too much trouble carrying it by himself, but he made Little Rock walk ahead of him to open doors where necessary. Wichita walked ahead of her little sister, gun poised to fire at the slightest sign of movement. Though after what just happened in the theatre room, firing at anything that moved probably wasn't the greatest of ideas.

* * *

They gave Bill a hero's send-off, firing a few rounds into the clear blue sky before tossing the corpse over the balcony and onto the driveway below. As a loud crash sounded and they all stood in a stunned silence, Columbus fished something out of his pocket and offered it to them.

"Do you guys want some Purell?"

Needless to say, they accepted in unison.

* * *

Since the apocalypse had only come around a few weeks earlier, food wasn't as scarce as one might think. Winnfield offered to make dinner on the condition that they sit down together to eat it. If they were sticking together for a while, they might as well act civilised towards each other, she figured.

Her first order of duty was to throw away all the no-go items, first and foremost the meat, then items that were past their use-by date, followed by anything that came from a cow. It seemed illogical to the others that they should be forced to eat what was practically a vegan diet, but Winnfield wanted to be sure she wasn't serving up fried eggs with a side of mad-cow disease. That would ruin everyone's evening.

After making sure that everyone was okay with her selection for that night's menu, she set to work cooking some pasta and deciding the best way to make a sauce to go with it. She grabbed some tomato paste and tinned diced tomatoes from the cupboard, and even found some cloves of garlic hidden away amongst some onions.  
She sighed as she stared into the boring red mixture, wishing she could throw in some minced beef at the very least. Hearing movement behind her she spun around and found Wichita holding a couple of bottles of wine. She placed them down on the counter and looked through the kitchen draws for a corkscrew. After she'd removed the cork from one of the bottles, she held it out to Winnfield.

"Think you can use some of this in the sauce?"

"Good idea."

She measured out two tablespoons carefully and then shrugged, tipping more straight from the bottle. Wichita left the kitchen as quickly as she had come in, and Winnfield was pleased to see that she was carrying some cutlery out to the table.

Just as the food was about ready to serve up, the power cut out.

Resourceful as ever, Columbus managed to find a torch and with it was able to locate some matches and candles. The next thing he did was hold the torch for Winnfield while she served up their belated dinner. Luckily, it was still relatively warm by the time it was finally set down on the table.

With the table lit with only a couple of candles, the level on anxiety seemed to rise a few degrees; everyone made sure their guns were within reach in case they had any unexpected visitors.

"You know, considering you had shit all to make this with, it's pretty good," Tallahassee commented, breaking the silence.

The others nodded in agreement.

"Thanks. I had to cook a lot for my brothers and my dad after my ma passed away."

Her statement did little to encourage further conversation. They cleared they plates without any further word.

"Look what I found when I was looking for the candles," Columbus announced, holding up a Monopoly box.

"Really?" Wichita asked, not at all excited by the idea.

"It's a good way to pass time."

"There's a reason they call them 'bored' games," she retorted.

"Hey! Lookie what I found." They glanced over at Tallahassee, who was holding up a few wads of cash.

"Sweet," Winnfield smirked, "Let's raise the stakes."

She grabbed the box from Columbus and set it out on the living room floor.

"'Raise the stakes'?" Wichita asked.

"You know what I mean," Winnfield replied, shrugging off Wichita's negative attitude. She set to work throwing a few cushions onto the ground for them to lie on, and then retrieved a few beers and cokes from the fridge. Whenever she felt a little rocky emotionally, she covered it up by being as productive as possible.

"Alright. Who's ready for Family Games Night?" she beamed.


	11. Chapter 11

**IT'S CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT  
AND SOMETHING EVIL'S LURKING IN THE DARK**

"Alright, free parking!" Wichita said, for once without her usual sarcasm. "Which, might I add, is the best thing about Zombieland."

Columbus shook his head. "Nope, best thing about Z-Land? No more Facebook status updates. Like 'Rob Curtis is gearing up for Friday'. Who cares?"

Although Winnfield wasn't sure that people actually talked like that on Facebook, since Columbus sounded like an 80 year-old grandparent trying to be cool, she still agreed with him; the world was less reliant on technology now. Come to think of it, the world was less reliant on a lot of things; the human race included.

"Nah-uh," Tallahassee broke in, interrupting the thoughtful silence, "The best thing is no more flushing. Epic."

"Remind me not to use the downstairs toilet," Winnfield frowned.

"Which one?" Wichita added, a fair question since the late 'B.M.' appeared to have at least three on the ground floor alone.

"So what about the worst thing? About Z-Land?" Columbus looked around at each face, though the expressions hardly seemed to vary. The worst thing about Zombieland? Well, when you thought about it, you certainly had plenty of things to choose from.

"Besides shooting my own brother?" Winnfield answered, an uncharacteristic gloom blanketing her words. It seemed that in certain instances, speaking jovially about morbid things wasn't always her style. "Probably never really knowing what happened to the rest of my family. For sure, anyway."

She moved her piece, the top hat, forward three spaces, consequently passing 'GO'. Wichita, who was acting banker, passed her two hundred dollars of real money. No further comments were made in regards to her response, but the others were in silent agreement. It was better for their sanity if they simply presumed their other family members were dead, like the rest of the world seemed to be; the thought that they could be out there somewhere, waiting for their loved ones to remember them...it was too much to even consider.

"Shooting Bill Murray," Columbus said suddenly, bringing everyone out of their thoughtful trances. "I guess that would probably be the worst thing. For me."

It was a complete lie, as a sea of memories came flooding back to him; his first encounter with the new zombie population, running for his life every time he had to leave a building or vehicle, seeing other people being eaten alive while he managed yet another lucky escape...

"Losing Bob," Tallahassee sighed.

"Oh, that's his puppy," Columbus explained to the two sisters, noticing their identical expressions of failed recognition. Winnfield gave him a strange look, as though she was not impressed, but he didn't notice. If he had of, it might have dawned on him earlier that Bob was not of the four-legged variety.

"I never thought I could love anything the way I loved Bob," Tallahassee went on, "The day he was born I just lost my mind. He had my personality, my appetite, my laugh..."

Columbus, who had been staring down at his pile of money awkwardly, not really comfortable when faced with the emotions of other people, glanced over at the brute he had generally feared since their first meeting, confused by the last characteristic he had mentioned. He had seen a lot of bizarre things in Zombieland, but a laughing dog still seemed unlikely. Winnfield watched, almost able to count down the seconds to his exact moment of realization.

"We made this wallet together out of duct tape," Tallahassee said, pulling the item out from his pocket. Columbus felt so ashamed of himself. This whole time he had thought that Tallahassee's sole loss had been a puppy; like a person who slaughtered zombies so mercilessly couldn't possibly have once had a family of their own.

To the surprise of them all, Tallahassee started to cry. He picked up a few notes from is pile of earnings and dabbed at his eyes. Winnfield, who lay beside him propped up on one elbow, patted his shoulder in an attempt to console him. He gave a nod of appreciation and cleared his throat.

"Woo, I haven't cried like that since'Titanic'," he said, appearing completely recovered from his moment of vulnerability. And since the mood was completely ruined, they abandoned the board game and each went off to find some other way to occupy themselves for the rest of the night.

Before they parted, they looked at each other with suspicion. They each had the same priority before doing anything else, and that was to find a shower and spend a good twenty minutes or so scrubbing off the grime that Zombieland had insisted on covering them in. Since Wichita had called shower-shotgun the moment they had stepped inside the mansion, and since each member of the group respected the law of the shotgun call, she was allowed to walk away and find the nearest shower without dispute. With one quick, evaluating look at the remaining three, Little Rock took off after her. Winnfield, Columbus and Tallahassee eyed one another, considering their own next move. Columbus decided to back down and wait for his turn, while the other two prepared to slug it out (not literally of course...well, maybe) to see who would get the upstairs shower.

It seemed likely that with such a huge, expensive house, there would be multiple stations for bathing on each floor, but Winnfield assumed that all the downstairs bathrooms would run on the same water system, while all the upstairs bathrooms would run on another, meaning only one person could shower on each floor at any given time, unless they didn't mind the water fluctuating between boiling and freezing every few seconds.

As if someone had shot off a starting gun, the pair took off up the staircase. Winnfield, with the better cardio of the two, remained in the lead for most of the race, until Tallahassee decided to trip her up. He made sure to catch her before she hit the ground and really hurt herself, but as soon as she was down, he leapt over her and ran on ahead, leaving her scowling in the hallway.

* * *

He found her sitting on the bed that was just outside the bathroom he had been using, and took the opportunity to show off what parts of him he could as he held onto the towel that was wrapped around his waist.

"Just gotta get my clothes," he said casually, walking –okay, _strutting_ – past the bed towards the pile of stuff on the floor. She nodded and pretended to look indifferent.

"Hurry up, alright?" she said as he re-entered the bathroom. As any delusional man would have, he took her words completely the wrong way, thinking that she wanted him to hurry up and join her, when all she wanted was to use the shower. Of course, she could have used one of the other bathrooms, but that was just not the way Winnfield did things.

By the time he finished getting changed, Winnfield had left the room, boredom overriding her need to mess with another person's head. She was wandering through the other rooms of the upper floor, while Tallahassee thought she had gone downstairs to get a few props; maybe some wine, a few candles...

Moving down to find her, he instead found Little Rock, abandoned by both 'budding couples', shooting at a bunch of plates she had set up along a table. If you could call what she was doing 'shooting'; she hadn't hit one target. His curiosity over Winnfield's behaviour nearly won him over, but he couldn't just stand there and watch someone be that horrible at shooting a gun. Sighing, he approached Little Rock, taking a seat on the chair beside hers, and watched her miss yet another shot.

"A hint?" he offered. She looked over at him incredulously, that expression that most tweens seemed to carry on their faces when addressed by someone above the age of their latest teen idol. "Exhale slowly, then squeeze the trigger."

Her expression unchanged, Little Rock gave no sign that she had taken his advice, but secretly disheartened by her abilities, did as he suggested. She hit a plate on the first attempt. Tallahassee nodded and she couldn't help but grin. They spent the next fifteen minutes or so getting in a little target practice and setting up new items to destroy whenever they ran out. Tallahassee had nearly completely forgotten about the reason he had originally gone downstairs, but the female in question presented herself moments later, washed and dressed in clean clothes. She stood and watched them, arms folded and an amused look on her face.

"Want a turn?" Tallahassee asked.

Winnfield thought about it and then shook her head.

"I think I might just go back up to that room."

Once again misinterpreting her words, he put down the gun and failed to notice her yawn. Running her hand through her half-dry hair, she turned and stalked back up the stairs, towards the bedroom, intending to get a good night's rest before the next day coughed up a medley of new problems for them to face.

Tallahassee took off in search of Columbus. He had an actual reason to, but really it was just to brag. He found him browsing through the house's wine collection, his hair still on the damp side, yet still managing to look even curlier and boofier than before. He eyed the older man with caution, pulling out a bottle at random, looking at the label and deciding that it would do for his purposes.

"What's up?" he asked Tallahassee, when it became apparent that he was waiting for him to ask.

"Alright, here's the deal," he began, with a serious expression, "I may or may not – leaning more towards may - be getting laid tonight. So if you keep those two sisters occupied, I'll owe you one. I swear. I mean, I'll give that little one a new gun to play with or something so that you and her sister can get a little better acquainted, know what I mean?"

"You and Winnfield?" Columbus asked.

"Yee-ep. Looks that way. I saw it. They get this look. It's all in the eyes." He fluttered his fingers in front of his face to suggest this.

"Isn't that what they say about, like, crazed chimpanzees just before they rip their owner's face off?"

"Same thing," Tallahassee nodded, "It's instinct."

"Wait, so she hasn't actually told you that she wants to, uh, do anything?"

Tallahassee pursed his lips and considered this. "Well, no. But like I said; instinct. In a pack of lions, the alpha male always knows when one of the lionesses is in heat."

Columbus frowned at the analogy.

"Look, I ain't asking much", the self-proclaimed 'alpha male' said, "Just take one for the team."

He slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the bottle of wine from his hands, and then turned to go find his waiting lady. He paused in the doorway, and then turned back, collecting a bottle for himself before leaving once more.

Columbus stared after him, tapping the neck of the wine bottle into his open palm thoughtfully. Then Tallahassee's words struck him in a strange way and he started towards the last place he had seen Wichita.

"What happened to Florida and Louisiana?" she asked, when he eventually found her in one of the many random rooms of the house.

"I think they might be...uh...'putting Percy in the playpen' ", he replied.

"Really", she said in a way that was quite judgmental, "How long have they known each other? Like, a week?"

Any hopes Columbus had had about what could happen between them in the next few hours were thrown out the window with those few words. But he noticed a playful look in her eyes and, further confused, took a seat next to her and began serving the wine.

* * *

Winnfield lay on the same bed as earlier, propped up on the many pillows it had to offer, all of which were soft as marshmallows. With heavy thoughts plaguing her, she had little interest in what Tallahassee had planned, but he was feeling too ambitious to notice.

"Hey," he said, failing miserably at sounding smooth as he lent against the doorframe, beverage in hand. Winnfield smirked at his cheesy behavior, but didn't make any moves of her own; physical or otherwise. He approached the bed and sat down next to her, taking in her shorts and tank top with as much subtlety as he could manage.

"Thanks," Winnfield said, sitting up as he passed her a glass of Bordeaux. She noticed he had only brought one glass, and then watched as he proceeded to take a swig from the bottle. She didn't know what it was with guys, but they all seemed to have an issue with using a glass. She thought of the number of times she had told off one of her own brothers for doing the exact same thing; a thought that filled her with a sudden guilt, considering the current state of things.

They drank in a comfortable silence, but with Tallahassee present the silence never lasted long. Sure enough, he put the bottle down on the nightstand and moved a little closer to her before saying, "Sooo..."

Winnfield polished of the last of her drink and passed the glass to him to put beside the bottle. He was about to get her a refill, when she declined with a guilty expression.

"Hass, there's something I need to say."

He immediately grew more interested, edging closer once more so that they were now almost touching.

"Yeah?" he smiled, waiting in anticipation, willing and able. He leaned towards her and she turned her head away. When she looked back at him, she seemed determined about something.

"I decided I'm gonna head off on my own." Ignoring the look of utter devastation on his face, she went on, "I'll leave tomorrow morning, before anyone else is awake, that way I can just sort of… disappear."

"Why? I mean...Look, was it something I said? The flushing thing? I was joking about that. I'll flush."

"No. It's just...What I said earlier about not knowing for sure about my family? It got me thinking. I've got to go out and look for them. My brothers are tough bastards, they taught me everything I know. I know they're out there somewhere. They never back down from a good fight."

"So you're just gonna bail?" he asked. He sunk back into the pillows, momentarily distracted by their softness. There were so many things he wanted to say to keep her around, but they all contradicted his 'No Attachments' rule. Had he really expected that they would stick together? No. In Zombieland, no matter how big your group was, it was still every man, woman and child for themselves.

"I'll probably run into you again somewhere down the road. It's a small world." She smiled sadly and got up, turning to gaze at him for a moment before leaving the room. He wasn't sure where she had gone off to, and he didn't bother to find out. He felt absolutely gutted.

The only thing he could think of doing, was going to make sure that Columbus didn't have any better luck than him that night.


	12. Chapter 12

**THIS USED TO BE A FUNHOUSE**

 **BUT NOW IT'S FULL OF EVIL CLOWNS**

When the sun finally rose the following day, it was as though you could almost hear Edvard Grieg's _Morning Mood_ playing gently in the background. Not that Tallahassee would've known the song, let alone enjoyed its classical style, but once in a while there were mornings when the survivors would wake up and forget for a brief moment that the world they had once known had indeed come to a sudden, gory end.

Columbus and Tallahassee were spared this moment for once as they were startled awake by the sound of slamming doors and screeching tyres. It took them a moment to comprehend the meaning of these sounds, then they both sprinted to the front door in time to watch the two sisters driving away in the yellow Hummer. As the car disappeared out the front gates, Columbus threw his hands up in defeat and turned to Tallahassee, who was surveying the yard, shirtless, with a look of indifferent acceptance.

"You are like a giant cock-blocking robot, developed in a secret fucking government lab!" Columbus cried, surprising Tallahassee with the amount of anger in his voice. He stormed back into the mansion, intending to gather up the few items he usually carried and leave Tallahassee and Winnfield to their own devices.

"Well, it's not like I got a lady hanging off my arm either, is it?" Tallahassee finally replied, following him to the room they had slept in.

Columbus, who had been doing a mental inventory check of his things, looked up with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"The Winnfield thing didn't really work out. She left last night."

Columbus would never actually admit it, but he was disappointed to hear this. The part about her leaving, that is. He couldn't care less that Tallahassee hadn't managed to 'go twenty toes' after all. Winnfield had begun to grow on him, even with all of her disturbing antics.

"Besides, who says it's my fault that you and _Witch_ -ita didn't happen? You weren't exactly stormin' the trenches before I came along."

Columbus gave him one last glare before moving to another room. He needed somewhere quiet to plan his next move. He needed to find a working car with enough fuel to get him somewhere. Anywhere would do. He spent a while looking for a big road map, finally coming across one in the bottom draw of a desk in one of the many random rooms around the house. He stared at it, a red marker in his hand poised to mark out his next route, but after twenty minutes he still didn't know where he was going to go. Where was there to go? According to Tallahassee, everywhere was the same desolate, corpse-ridden wasteland, so what was the point? He sighed and set aside the items for later consideration.

He woke up nearly six hours later, eyes widening when he realized he had left himself so vulnerable without even knowing it. True, he hadn't slept well the night before because of the Wichita fiasco, and he had been left feeling like the walking dead (no pun intended) when he had been rudely thrown into consciousness by the sounds of her driving away, but he was sure he had never been so stupid as to fall asleep in an unsecured area without a weapon handy. He heard noises coming from the other room and decided to investigate, picking up the closest, heaviest item he could find, which happened to be a bust of Jabba the Hutt _._

He crept into the front room and found Tallahassee piling up random items, readying them for transport into whatever vehicle he found next; in other words, looting. There were a few new additions to his already 'attractive' outfit, including a beer helmet and a snakeskin jacket. Somehow, on Tallahassee, neither of these things looked odd.

"You know what they call Twinkies in Mexico? 'Los Submerinos'," Tallahassee told him, as though the little argument they'd had earlier had never happened. "That's where I'm headed, amigo."

"Whatever," Columbus replied. He realized he still hadn't figured out what he was going to do, where he was going to go. Then it dawned on him. He thought about the night before, sitting with Wichita, laughing and talking and just feeling comfortable with each other. He had never really had that with a girl before. He knew what he had to do.

"I'm going after Wichita."

Tallahassee, who was in the process of carefully leaning a large portrait of Bill Murray against the wall, alongside the other items he planned on taking, shook his head.

"Did you ever read that book _She's Just Not That Into You_?" he asked, taking off the beer helmet and replacing it with his usual hat. "You can't make yourself too available."

Columbus frowned. Taking dating advice from Tallahassee seemed like taking diet advice from, well, Jabba the Hutt. He looked down at the bust in his hand, wondering why he was still holding it, and then tossed it into the adjoining room, ignoring the smash as it hit the marble floor.

"I don't care. I just wanna be with her. Have fun in Mexico. Say 'Hi' to Winnfield if you ever see her again." The last part was admittedly a little harsh, but he wasn't in a particularly charitable mood.

He headed towards the garage to see what vehicles there were to choose from, refusing to say another word to Tallahassee, who was doing the same thing. While Tallahassee began loading a few items into a large SUV, Columbus spotted a motorcycle between the expensive looking cars, and, after uncovering a helmet and leather jacket (safety first!), waited while Tallahassee forced the garage door open.  
The snakeskin-clad man turned to him and almost looked sorry that they were parting ways.

"I'm not great at farewells, so, uh...that'll do pig."

"That's the worst goodbye ever. And you stole it from a movie."

Columbus put the helmet on and rolled his eyes, approaching his chosen mode of transport and mounting it. Tallahassee checked that his stolen goods were secured and watched Columbus start up the bike and ride it out of the garage. But that's as far as he got. With next to no experience with motorbikes, he steered it right into a cluster of bushes that sat adjacent to the garage door. With the little dignity he had left, he scrambled to his feet and brushed himself off.

Both Tallahassee and Columbus jumped as a burst of laughter echoed through the large parking space. From somewhere inside, a car door opened and slammed shut. Winnfield appeared from behind a fast looking sports car.

Tallahassee did a double take as she approached him, and when he was sure it was her, he smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up a little.

"How long have you been sitting in there?" Columbus called to her, throwing his helmet to the ground and pulling a twig out of his hair.

"I was going to leave at first light, but then I fell asleep. I guess you boys woke me up. You sound like bulls in a china shop, I ain't even kidding," she replied. "So what's going on?"

"You ain't goin' to find your brothers?" Tallahassee asked her.

"They can wait", she replied, "I finally decided that it's best to stick with the people that I actually know are alive." The others nodded. "Where're we headed?"

Columbus and Tallahassee exchanged looks and shrugged. "Looks like we're goin' to Pacific Playland", Tallahassee said.

Winnfield held up a finger to say that she would be back in a moment, and soon reappeared with her trusty duffel bag (now a little heavier with the books she had taken from inside the house) and he rifle in hand.

"Alright", she nodded, "Let's go."

Each with a smile on their face, they climbed into the car, completely underestimating the situation the two sisters had gotten themselves into.

* * *

They began to feel that something wasn't right, when they passed through the streets of Los Angeles without encountering a single zombie. Not even a straggler, or an incapacitated crawler.

"What the hell is that?" Winnfield, who was seated in the back for once, climbed forward and pointed towards some bright lights in the distance. "That's not...I mean, they wouldn't have...would they?"

They each leaned forward and cocked their heads at the sight in wonder.

"Oh, frickfrack," Winnfield said, receiving strange looks from her two companions.

But that pretty much summed it up.

When they got closer to the theme park, their suspicions were confirmed. The sisters had, for God knows what reason, turned on all the lights, sounds and rides in the park, consequently luring all the zombies in the area like moths to an enormous, bright flame. A bright flame with jaunty tunes and crudely made stuffed-animal prizes.

"Hey, Winnfield?" Tallahassee asked.

"Already there", she replied, gathering up all the guns and ammo she could find and making sure every weapon was loaded. Columbus took the shotgun and sidearm she handed him. "This is not going to be pretty."

They were well prepared before they even arrived at the gates to the theme park; Tallahassee sporting an elaborate gun holster over his snakeskin jacket, Winnfield adding multiple single holsters to her pants and over her t-shirt, while Columbus was trying his best not to soil himself as he spotted the amount of undead swarming their destination.

"Still sure you want to do this, kid?" Winnfield asked, leaning forward once more to pass Tallahassee a few extra clips of ammo.

Columbus nodded, at first hesitant and then with more vigour as he thought about what was at stake. Winnfield clapped them both on the shoulder and sat back, putting on her seatbelt. Tallahassee brought the car to a halt a few hundred metres away from the park and got out of the car. He surveyed the situation as best he could under the dim glow of the streetlights, while Winnfield realised only then that the city's back-up generators must have kicked in some time during the night. She relayed this thought to Columbus, who nodded as though he hadn't thought about that either, and then he took off his leather jacket to allow his arms to move a little more freely.

"I think they might actually require our assistance this time," Tallahassee said as he climbed back into the driver's seat.

"What are we looking at here?" Winnfield asked, checking the barrel of her gun to make sure it wouldn't jam at a crucial moment.

"I'm gonna say a couple o' hundred, easy".

Winnfield sighed and nodded at the bad but somewhat predictable news.

"Buckle up," Tallahassee warned his passengers, before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. "Time to nut up or shut up."

They sped towards the open gates, where a few clueless zombies had congregated, too distracted by the pretty lights to be thinking about the two potential meals that lay inside.  
Tallahassee picked up a small machine gun and with a twist of the steering wheel, sent the car into a full spin, shooting out the window and taking out all the surrounding zombies in the process.

"Holy shit," Columbus commented, his heart racing a thousand miles an hour as his body mistook the stunt for a near-death experience.

Winnfield made a clear sound of approval and poked her head out the window, looking around at the pile of the now _definitely_ -dead. Tallahassee backed the car up over the corpses, (just in case), and then drove forward over them once more before continuing in the direction of the 'damsels in distress'.

"You know," Tallahassee said, glancing from Columbus to Winnfield, "My momma always told me that someday I'd be good at something. Who would've thought that something would be killing zombies?"

"Probably no one," Columbus replied. Winnfield chuckled.

* * *

Once they were inside, Tallahassee stopped the car once more and they all got out. While Winnfield placed a few handguns in her holsters, Columbus ran towards some nearby railing, beyond which sat dark, sparkling water. Something yellow caught his eye and he realized that it was their old Hummer, the one that the girls had taken. It was almost completely submerged.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no," he pleaded. If they had still been in the car...maybe they had been run off the road by a horde, or maybe drowning had seemed like a better way to go than being eaten alive. Winnfield approached to see what was wrong, and just as she spotted the car, they both heard shouting from the other side of the fun-park. Columbus was the first to spot the two sisters, who appeared to be stuck at the top of one of the rides. From the looks of things, they were lucky to be that far off the ground, as a massive group of zombies had gathered around the base.

Relief swept through Columbus and he turned back to his zombie-slaying pals. "Hey, they're up there," he said, pointing with his shotgun, "They're okay."

"Well, what are you waitin' for? Go get your gal," Tallahassee smiled. The pre-zombie-slaughter adrenaline was starting to kick in and he was raring to go. He turned to Winnfield and they gave each other a nod and a confident smile before setting off in opposite directions. Tallahassee began blasting an air horn, drawing the zombies' attention directly to them. A massive group headed for him, but he wasn't fazed, whipping out his machine gun and mowing them down in quick succession.

"Holy shit," Columbus commented, as he watched in awe, and then, as he spotted another horde heading right for him, "Holy shit!"  
He took off at a sprint, his well-developed cardio working in his favor, as it always did.

Not too far away from where Tallahassee was currently kicking some major zombie ass, Winnfield found that she was actually able to stop running and take up a leisurely stroll. None of the zombies had followed her. She would have to go to them.


	13. Chapter 13

**EVERYBODY LOVES A CLOWN, SO WHY DON'T YOU?**

Heading back to the original starting point, Winnfield found Tallahassee's air horn discarded on the ground. She picked it up and looked around, unable to see any of the others in the area. She could hear gunshots coming from somewhere, which could either be a good thing, or a bad thing depending on who was doing the firing.

Tallahassee had apparently taken all the zombies with him, and she pushed a sudden nagging concern to the back of her mind as she thought of the situation he had gotten himself into. Her own ammo clip was still full and was asking to be emptied. She spotted a straggler lurching around near a dumpster and with a sly grin, she tossed the air horn away and slowly approached it. Taking up her gun and lining up the kill shot, she became so engrossed in the task that, by the time she heard the deep, hungry growl, it was too late. There was not time to move from the reach of the cold, gripping hands that latched onto her shoulders, and she gave a small shriek of surprise. She would have clamped her hand over her mouth if one of them had been free to do so, but the zombie had her on the ground in a second. It was directly over her; what had once been a male in, perhaps, his forties, was now a decomposing monster trying to sink its yellow teeth into her throat.

During the fall, her gun had been knocked from her hands, as always seems to be the case whenever someone is put in a situation where the weapon becomes their only means of defense. She looked over at it, finding it too far away to reach without having to let go of the zombie, which would then give him a clear shot at her straining ligaments. For the first time, she actually wished to be rescued; she didn't care if she lost BAMF points because of it. All she wanted was to see a knight in snakeskin armor appear from around the corner, who would pull the zombie off of her, help her to her feet and _not_ make a big deal out of it.

But that didn't happen.

The undead brute continued to vomit blood and puss onto her clothes while she thrashed about to keep the foul liquid from dripping onto her face.

The commotion attracted the zombie from beside the dumpster, which began a slow journey towards her. She saw that, somehow, both its ankles were snapped off to ninety-degree angles, making it near impossible for it to move any faster. She cried out again, this time in exertion, as she pushed as hard as she could to get the more pressing danger off of her, but it seemed more determined than she was. It tightened its grip and, for a second, almost reached its teeth to her collarbone. One last instinct kicked in and, without thinking, she kneed it in the balls, (or, at least, where they used to be). This seemed to do the trick, though not in the way it would when performed on a living man, as the zombie fell a little to the left, freeing her right arm. Her freed hand shot out and grabbed her revolver from its holster. Turning her head away to avoid most of the splatter from such a close-range shot, she pulled the trigger, and finally felt the zombie's hands fall away from her. She rolled towards her shotgun, picked it up and, keeping the momentum of the movement, got onto one knee.

"Yeah, I got a proposal for you," she growled, the absurdity of both her position and the situation taking its toll on her, "Fucking die!"

Her shot rang out, and the zombie with the weak ankles slumped to the ground, its splattered brains adding to the graffiti on the wall behind it.

The gunshots she had heard earlier seemed even closer from her new position. Getting to her feet, she took off at a slow sprint, hoping to run into a decent shootout. Something on a window caught her eye as she passed what had once been a small snack shop. Glancing around and seeing no zombies in her current vicinity, she shouldered her weapon and headed inside. The store room was on her immediate left as she entered, the door conveniently left unlocked. She opened it slowly, her revolver ready for any sudden movement.

A scurrying of fur made her jump, but she had a strong trigger finger and managed to keep from shooting blindly into the murky space. She felt around the wall for a light switch, and when she finally happened across one, she flicked it on to reveal several rats running into a small hole in the floor in the corner of the room. She shook her head and began scanning the boxes on the shelf for the one that held Tallahassee's Holy Grail. It was directly in front of her. Grinning like an idiot, she pulled one of the little cakes out and stared at it, wondering how it could mean so much to a full-grown man. She put it in her empty holster for later, having decided to keep the revolver handy because a one-handed weapon was easier to move with.

Wondering how far away the car was, Winnfield made to grab the box, but found that she had put herself in a vulnerable position yet again. Thankful that she wasn't completely cornered, she leapt out of the storeroom, pulling the door shut behind her to keep out curious flesh-eaters, and vaulted over the front counter, aiming her pistol at the zombie that stood in the store's entrance. Her first shot hit it in the cheek, leaving only a graze, but her second shot made it through the side of its head.  
Hearing a cluster of footsteps heading straight for her, she shot indecisive looks from the exit to the awaiting box of Twinkies, before her logic kicked in and she left before she could be ambushed.

* * *

The onslaught was over in a matter of minutes, though it felt like it had taken much longer.  
While on the lookout for the two boys, Winnfield had come across Columbus, who had given her a little, awkward wave before finding himself face to face with a clown zombie. As much as she would have loved to stay and watch him fight it, if only for the novelty, she continued on her way to find Tallahassee.

She followed the trail of bodies. In any other circumstances, she would have found this mode of tracking rather disturbing. Then she came across a scene of absolute massacre.  
And she was impressed – 'turned on' being too strong and weird of a description for that particular moment.

Tallahassee stepped out from inside a small game booth that was now filled with exploded stuffed toys. He twirled his two handguns, holstered them, and gave her a mischievous grin. She found it hard to resist returning the smile, so she gave in, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes before placing her hands in the small of her back in a gesture that said 'So-ooo...'

"How's about we see how the kid's fairin'?" he asked. He climbed onto the roof of the structure and then reached down and offered her a hand to help her up.

"So, how'd you go?" he asked once they were both up and watching Columbus finally rescue his girl.

"Uhhm...I nearly died once," she replied, as though she were trying to make her own escapade sound far more exciting than it really was.

"Yeah? You got a little-" He reached forward and gently brushed a bit of brain splatter from her cheek. Not wanting to make the moment awkward by staring, Winnfield looked back towards Columbus, who was locking lips with Wichita in his moment of triumph. They both felt a sort of pride in the kid, who had come far since they had met him. Sure, he was still a skinny, nervous, maybe-virgin; but he was one step closer to not having his virginity speculated about, and that was something.

"Aww, little fawn's become a buck," Tallahassee said, "He'll beat off to that for six months."

"I'm gonna go get the car," Winnfield said, after responding to his comment with a raised eyebrow and a quick laugh. She moved over to the edge of the roof, sat down with her legs over the edge, and then pushed herself off, landing smoothly below.

Tallahassee watched her as she moved back towards their original starting point, pretending to have not been staring at her ass when she looked over her shoulder to check if he was following. She took off at a jog when she spotted Columbus, Wichita and Little Rock coming back from the other side of the park.

When she reached the car, she began checking it over before proceeding to the backseat after recalling Columbus' list of rules. Aside from the small space she had made for herself on the drive to Pacific Playland, it was crammed with random items from Bill Murray's house, all of which were beyond unnecessary. She managed to stuff most of them into the back, to make room for the two additional passengers. In the duffel bag of guns that Tallahassee had kept from the Hummer, she came across a couple of additional handguns, which she placed in the pockets on the back of the two front seats, just in case; you never knew when you'd need a loaded gun handy, as she had so recently discovered.

She was soon joined by a very bored looking Little Rock, who leaned casually against the open car door. Winnfield, who was currently leaning at a weird angle, looked under her bent arm at the young girl.

"Need some ammo?" she asked her, noticing the careless way she was holding her weapon.

"Yeah. Thanks," the youngster replied. Winnfield guessed from her tone that the 'Thanks' was both for the ammunition and for coming back for them.

Wichita joined them not long after, also receiving a clip of ammunition from their blood-splattered companion. Winnfield sat sideways on the edge of the car seat, her feet dangling out to the ground. She glanced down at her t-shirt and nearly gagged when she saw the mix of blood and thickened pus.

"Hey, could you guys do me a favor?" she asked the two girls.

Moments later they were standing with their backs to the door, arms crossed as though on guarding something, while Winnfield changed out of her soiled clothes. Using a bit of water from a bottle she found on the floor, and a small, clean portion of her bloody t-shirt, she managed to clean the rest of the muck from her stomach, too.  
She threw on a new shirt from her own luggage, and climbed out of the car, thanking the sisters for their assistance.

"Where the hell are the boys?" she asked.

Wichita nodded towards the little cafe Winnfield had searched earlier. She nodded knowingly, hoping they would discover the box themselves. When a gunshot sounded from inside, Winnfield jogged over to see what the trouble was. She found Columbus outside the storeroom with an apologetic look on his face as he watched Tallahassee sift through the remains of the box of Twinkies that Winnfield had nearly saved earlier.

Winnfield shot Columbus a questioning look and he shook his head like he didn't know how it had happened.

"Itchy trigger finger?"

He nodded, guilty.

"Do you think you can just, maybe, pick out the buckshot and eat around it?" he asked the crestfallen man-child from Florida.

Tallahassee shook his head and gave the exploded cakes up for lost. The sound of an engine roaring to life distracted them from the tragedy of lost desserts. Columbus' eyes widened and he sprinted outside, uttering "No, no, no!"

The sisters were driving off again. After everything they had done for them, they were just going to slip away and leave like they had so many times before?  
Of _course_ not.

Wichita brought the car to a stop and leant out the driver's side window, grinning mischievously at her admirer who couldn't help but smile back. It was a mean trick, but he had to admit, it was sort of funny after everything they had been through.

Winnfield came out of the cafe, closely followed by Tallahassee, and she was struck by a thought. She reached into her holster and brought out the Twinkie she had stuck in there earlier, turning to show him the last survivor from the box that Columbus had fired on. His expression melted into disbelief when he saw it, and he stepped forward to take it from her, changing his mind at the last moment. Instead, he took hold of the woman herself and dipped her back, planting a big, bristly kiss on her lips.

When he brought her up to her feet again, her cheeks were flushed and she looked a little dazed, but she seemed happy nonetheless, passing him the cream-filled cake which he eagerly accepted. He ate it slowly, savoring the taste of what could be the last Twinkie left in the country, and watched Winnfield's face for her reaction to his unexpected action. Slowly, she smiled up at him.

While all this was happening, the other three watched from the car.

"Urgh," Wichita commented," _Finally."_


	14. Chapter 14

**FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS**

"So, where are we going?" Little Rock asked.

The five survivors glanced around at each other. They had left Pacific Playland about twenty minutes ago and had driven along in considerable silence for most of that time. Now, with Wichita behind the wheel, Little Rock riding shotgun, and Winnfield, Columbus and Tallahassee in the back, choosing a destination seemed like a good idea.

"Ladies' choice," Tallahassee suggested, "and seeing as you two have already picked ... Winnfield? It's out of you and Columbus."

Ignoring the childish insult, Columbus looked at Winnfield and gave a small nod: her choice.

"Alright, looks like we're headin' for my home state," she announced.

"Which would be...?" Wichita asked.

"Louisiana," the three in the back replied in unison.

"For future reference, I only need one of you to answer. It's less creepy that way," Wichita frowned, though she had found it sort of cute.

"Do you have family there?" Columbus asked Winnfield after a few moments silence.

She nodded and then cocked her head to the side. "Well, possibly."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean..." Wichita trailed off, not wanting to be too direct in case it came across sounding heartless; but Winnfield knew what she was getting at.

"Maybe it's not a good idea," she said, "Maybe, instead, we should go to a big ol' amusement park when it's dark, and then turn _all_ the lights on. That won't attract zombies or anything."

"Alright, you made your point. It's just ..."

"How can I be sure there'll be any family left to find?"

Wichita nodded.

"If I know my brothers well enough, they'll be alright. My oldest brother, Lewis" –she didn't seem to care that she had divulged a real name here – "He moved to a little town outside Baton Rouge, just because it's called 'Slaughter'.

"'Welcome to the town of Slaughter'. Yeah, I could see that," Tallahassee thought aloud. Winnfield rolled her eyes playfully.

"How old are your brothers?" Wichita asked casually. A little too casually, Columbus thought.

With a furrowed brow and pursed lips, Winnfield did her best to recall the correct answer.

"Thirty-three and twenty...nine? Something like that."

"And you said you're the youngest? Aww, you're just a baby, then," Tallahassee said.

"I wouldn't call twenty-six 'a baby'."

"Twenty-six?" Columbus asked.

"Do I not look that old?"

"It's not ... I just thought ... You're not that much older than me, then."

Winnfield shrugged in a way that asked what his point was. He waved his hand to dismiss his own comment, and then went back to staring out the window.

"Which way do you want to go?" Wichita asked when they came to a large road sign that suggested multiple exits out of L.A.

"According to this map, we could take the I-15 and then change to the I-40 a few miles up," Columbus suggested, glancing over the map he had found in 'Le Mansion de Murray'.

"Nah, take the I-10," Winnfield told her, "That'll lead take us back the way we came. At least we know that there weren't many zombies along that road."

"Could that not have changed in the last couple of days?" Columbus asked. "Besides, if we take the I-40, we'll avoid going through any major towns or cities for a while."

"But we'll end up driving along the Mojave."

"So?"

"Which way is it?" Wichita asked, growing steadily impatient with their bickering.

"Just take the I-40," Winnfield sighed.

An hour later they were cruising along Columbus' chosen route with very little to do. 'I-Spy' wasn't very fun when all you had to choose from were 'road', 'sky' and 'barren landscape'.

"I could really go for a steak right now," Tallahassee said.

"Tell me you're kidding," Winnfield frowned.

"A nice, big, juicy steak, medium-rare - "

"With a side of zombification?" Columbus asked.

"Speaking of food," Wichita said, as Tallahassee continued to daydream about the lunch he wished he was having, "Do we have any?"

There was an awkward silence before they realised that after all the surviving they had just done, they were now on an empty desert highway without any food or much water, and without a grocery store or gas station for miles.

"I think we should look for a mall," Little Rock suggested, only to receive disapproving looks from those in the car who had seen _Dawn of the Dead._

"All we need is food. And a few medical supplies probably wouldn't hurt, either," Winnfield told her, before turning to look in the back of the car. "We seem to be pretty well stocked in the random crap department."

"Hey, that stuff is not crap!" said Tallahassee, returning her disapproving stare.

She reached back and pulled out a novelty-sized Baby Ruth bar, giving him a look that read 'No, not at all'. She threw it back and borrowed the roadmap from Columbus.

"You got a marker?" she asked him.

* * *

They met a few lone zombies along the highway, which they ran down without stopping, and also spotted a few crushed corpses by the side of the road – a sight which gave them hope that maybe they weren't alone after all. But if any survivors had come this way before them, they had passed on to a better place.  
As the buildings began to grow closer together and there seemed to be less surrounding desert, the group kept their eyes peeled for somewhere to stop. They were dying for a toilet break since they had been drinking so much in an attempt to keep their hunger at bay, but by now there were growling stomachs all around.

"There haven't really been many zombies around on the roads," Columbus commented, "Does anyone else find that weird?"

"Are you complaining?" Wichita replied.

He shook his head, but he was right – the roads were eerily empty. It was as though someone had gone through and cleared out the living dead for them, like a protective convoy that they couldn't see and could never catch up to.

"I never did see any army cars or soldiers or anything like that. You'd think that they would have been out dealing with all this," Wichita thought aloud.

"We found a tank," Columbus told her, smiling as he recalled Winnfield's suggestion to drive it through the streets and blast anything they came across. "Just after you guys, uh, stole our car."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Sure," Tallahassee sniffed, as if he was still hadn't forgiven the sisters for making off with his self-modified Cadillac.

"Hey, I think I see some stores up ahead," Columbus announced, pointing past a row of houses, down towards the end of a street they now found themselves approaching.

They parked a short way down from the line of stores to give themselves some running space in case they came across a crowd of undead-shoppers. A run-in seemed unlikely in this particular neighbourhood, but it was a precaution that would pay-off should they find themselves surrounded and in need of a chance to create some distance.

As soon as they left the car, they spread out in a horizontal line with Wichita and Tallahassee on the far left and far right respectively, keeping an eye on the surrounding alleyways and front yards, while Winnfield ran on ahead to scout out the street corners.

"All clear," she called back to them. They jogged up to meet her, keeping their weapons pressed close to them, and began their shopping experience from the leftmost store, which happened to be bakery. The shopfront was splattered with blood and a dark, thick material that they would rather not have to think about too much. Moving on to the next shop, they found a small boutique that was more than likely filled with overpriced jewellery and, for some unknown reason, dozens of pairs of leather driving gloves. Once again, they skipped it and moved on. Tallahassee and Winnfield, who had managed to get ahead of the others, stopped in front of the next store simultaneously, though for very different reasons.

" _Aphrodite's Closet_ ," Wichita read from the store's front door, "Tacky name."

Whilst she and Little Rock moved on, Columbus paused, momentarily mesmerised by the mannequins in the window which were clad in the laciest, 'barely-there' undergarments he had ever seen. He had never thought that he could ever be attracted to an inanimate object – though at one stage he had feared he might end up one of those boys with only 'polyester girls' for company – but these mannequins were quite detailed.  
Finally urging himself to follow the real flesh-and-blood girl of his dreams, he risked a quick glance at Winnfield, who was staring intently into the store. Tallahassee was looking from her, to the lingerie and then back again, as if waiting to see if she would go inside the store for a better look. If she did decide to, he would be going with her...for defensive purposes only, of course.

"Come on you guys!" Little Rock called from the grocery store at the far end of the lot. She and her sister had managed to wedge open the previously-automatic doors and were keeping them ajar with a few massive bags of dog food they had found piled at the front of the store.

Winnfield stepped up to the glass and cupped her hands on either side of her face for a better look inside. It was then that Tallahassee realised she wasn't considering which silk teddy she would look best in; something was up.

"What do you see?" Columbus asked, moving back towards her, his grip tightening on his gun.

"I thought..."

Through the dark gloom of the store, all was still. She was sure that something had moved in there. But maybe several hours cooped up in a car on a desert highway, without any food, had something to do with that.

"Guess not," she decided. She suddenly scrunched her face into an expression of discomfort.

"What is wrong with you?" Tallahassee asked, giving her a strange look.

"My bladder is about to burst," she replied. She looked around and spotted a public toilet block not too far from where they were. Little Rock followed her gaze and then hopped nimbly over the makeshift doorstopper

"Bathroom break," she agreed quickly, heading towards the public block.

Columbus' third rule for surviving Zombieland began flashing in his mind like a giant Broadway sign: BEWARE OF BATHROOMS!

Catching his worried expression, Winnfield said, "I doubt we'll run into anything in there. I mean, zombies are more the roaming type."

"Marauding," Tallahassee corrected her, "Marauding for flesh."

"Right. Besides, I've seen more horrifying things than zombies in public restrooms..."

They hurried after Little Rock, who fast approached the small brick building, and hesitated outside, taking in the peeling paint and roof covered in bird-droppings, before splitting up and heading towards the appropriate entrances. Columbus decided to go in first for once, raising his weapon to meet whatever might lay in wait ahead of him. The men's' room was empty, but the flickering light inside only added to the creepy atmosphere.

In the ladies' room, Winnfield fared just as well, though she found herself hoping that the dark smears on the walls actually were zombie blood. She, Wichita and Little Rock screwed up their faces as they saw how dirty the bathroom was; but they had little other choice. No one particularly felt like venturing into one of the suburban homes, where real danger was most likely prowling.

"Urgh, I know we're in the middle of an apocalypse, but _really_?" Wichita said, checking one of the stalls and looking back to the others with her hand clamped over her mouth and nose.  
"This one down the end is the cleanest," she told them, "But that's not saying much."

Winnfield, who had gone first, since she was making even weirder faces of discomfort by that time, waited outside for the two sisters to finish up. She found Columbus leaning back against the wall by the entrance to the men's room, looking quite thoughtful.

"Seen anything?" she asked him as she walked over.

"No," he replied, "It's weird, you know? I keep thinking maybe they've, like, congregated somewhere and this massive horde will just come running around the corner at any moment."

Winnfield chuckled. "'Congregated'? Like they're organised?"

Columbus smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Who knows what they're capable of?"

"What did I miss?" a voice asked very close to Winnfield's ear, warm breath tickling her neck. She jumped and spun around.

"Jeee-sus, Hass! You wanna end up like your friend Mr. Murray?"

"Alright, let's do this," Wichita said as she and Little Rock came out from the restroom. Winnfield jabbed Tallahassee in the side with her elbow and followed them back to the grocery store.

A horrific stench hit them the moment they ventured inside. Since they were all fairly familiar with the smell of corpses and zombie muck by this point, they quickly discerned that they weren't about to be faced with a scene of mass slaughter. It was the stomach-churning stench of off milk. Winnfield actually gagged.

"Let's be quick about this, shall we?" she suggested, receiving nods of mutual agreement.

Spotting a rack of neckerchiefs, she grabbed one and tied it over her face, bandit-style. Stepping back in line with the others, she looked determinedly towards the back of the store, now ready to face the vomit-inducing smell throughout the rest their shopping experience.

"You look like you're about to rob a bank," Columbus told her. She threw him a sideways glance, cocked her gun, and started for the first aisle.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they emerged from the store laden with several bags of supplies. Despite the sour milk smell following them through every aisle, the majority of their harvest was actually cereal, which had the advantages of being both lighter and more convenient than cans of food – especially once you divided it into smaller, portion-sized bags – and kept for a surprisingly long time.

Since Little Rock was the only one not carrying anything, she now had the role of lookout, though if any danger were to present itself, they would all have dropped their bags and drawn their guns. They weren't about to make a twelve year-old take on a zombie by herself.

Tallahassee, who was already outside the store, held his hand out to Winnfield as she stepped up onto the mound of pet-food bags. Smiling, she pulled the neckerchief down off her face and accepted, allowing him to help her down.

"Okay, so if we keep taking turns driving, we should be in Louisiana by tomorrow night," Columbus said as they all headed back to the car.

Then they froze.  
The ominous tolls of a church bell echoed through the empty town.

"What is that?" Little Rock asked, managing to cover up most of the fear that was slowly spreading through her.

"Did anyone see any churches on the way in?" Winnfield asked.

Columbus shook his head, gazing off in the direction he thought the sound might be coming from.

"Alright," she said, "We'll dump this stuff in the car, and then the three of us will go check it out."

"The three of us?" Wichita asked.

"Columbus, Tallahassee and myself," Winnfield replied, adjusting the weight of her bag of groceries, which was balanced on her hip like a small child.

"Wait, why do we have to stay behind?" Little Rock frowned.

"Someone has to watch the car," Winnfield lied. Her real concern was leading such a young girl into either a scene of mass carnage, or otherwise into some kind of danger involving crazed survivors that had been forced into fear and isolation. Even though Little Rock had already been exposed to some pretty horrible things, if she could prevent a kid from having to witness anything more, she would take that opportunity.

* * *

"What do you think it is?" Columbus asked as the three amigos headed off on their investigative expedition.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" Winnfield replied, spreading her arms out above her head. Tallahassee gave her a weird look. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame? No?" she tried.

"I think you might have spent a bit too much time up on that roof by yourself," he told her.

They crossed over a small intersection and spotted the church, an old brown-brick building that had probably been hand-built by the first townspeople centuries ago. There were a couple of cars parked on the road in front of it, neither of which looked in any way damaged. The three glanced at each other.

"Could mean more survivors," Winnfield said.

"Yeah, well we aren't taking in any more strays," Tallahassee replied.

"Gee, thanks."

"Not what I meant," he said, raising his hands in defence.

"Wanna take different entrances?" he suggested. They considered this for a moment and then decided that it was probably a good idea. Start at different ends and then meet in the middle; all bases covered.

"Can we have a code word in case one of us gets into trouble?" Winnfield asked.

"How 'bout 'Holy shit, there's a zombie over here!'" Tallahassee replied.

Winnfield frowned. "I'm not going to say 'Holy shit in a church. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"If one of us yells, I'm sure we'll figure it out," Columbus told them. At this point he was itching to get inside. In the past he would have avoided this kind of potentially dangerous situation, but ever since his heroics at Pacific Playland, he had begun to realise that maybe he was braver than he thought.

"I'll take the back entrance," he said.

Tallahassee chuckled immaturely at this, though over the sound of the church bells it was barely audible. What they did hear, though, was a sudden shout from above.

"Hey!"

They spun around to face the bell tower, shielding their eyes from the harsh midday sun. The caller was a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He waved down at them from a window just below the row of bells that dangled from the very top of the tower. In his free hand he held a rifle in his, but he didn't appear to want to use it on them.

"Uh, hi," Columbus replied.

"You scared the shit out of us!" Winnfield called to him.

"What?" he asked.

"I said you scared the shit out of us!"

"What? Sorry," the man said, "I can't hear you over the bells."

Winnfield cupped her hand to her ear to show that she hadn't heard him.

"The bells!" he shouted.

She rolled her eyes and nodded to him that this was obvious. He gestured for them to wait a moment, and then disappeared from the window.

Tallahassee, who was steadily becoming suspicious of the whole situation, raised his gun and stared at the door at the bottom of the tower. Of course, since he had found Winnfield by herself the first time they had met, he didn't really have any reason to mistrust someone simply for being a lone survivor.

The chiming had stopped now, much to the relief of their ears, and the heavy, wooden door creaked on its rusty hinges as it was pushed slowly open.

Tallahassee put his hand on Winnfield's shoulder and stepped up in front of her- a gesture she found slightly offensive, as though he thought she couldn't defend herself. Apparently kissing someone made them suddenly in need of your protection.

"Whoa, what's with the gun?" the man asked him, holding a hand up to show he didn't mean any harm.

After a brief moment's thought, Tallahassee lowered his weapon.

"I tell you," the man continued, throwing a cautious glance at him before turning his attention to Winnfield, who looked the calmest of the three, "It's nice to see some living faces. I wanted to stop you all from goin' inside the church. Ain't nothing you want to see in there, believe me."

"What's in there?" Columbus asked, curiosity getting the better of him, though he looked concerned about what the answer might be.

The man shook his head in a sorrowful way and looked over at the quiet church building. "About thirty or so people decided that a church is a real fine place to barricade themselves during a crisis like this. Only they didn't realise that a bunch of them had been bitten by these things. So, as you can imagine..."

He shook his head once more.

"Jesus."

"Right you are," he said. "They made it so nothing could get in, but in the end none of them got out."

"How did you survive?" asked Winnfield.

"Sheer dumb luck, that's how. I decided at the last minute to go back for my rifle and came back to find that they'd locked me out. Most of 'em were hysterical by then, and there's no reasoning with people when they're like that, you know?"

She nodded, recalling the last few moments as she had driven out of her neighbourhood in her brother's car; people running themselves into literal dead-ends, screaming and giving up their whole world for lost. Throw humanity into chaos and suddenly everyone loses the ability to function.

"So I headed on up to the tower, locked myself in and settled up under the bells. It's a real nice sort of bird's nest to shoot from. The sound took a bit of getting used to, though." He ran a hand through his receding, pale-red hair.

"Are they...automated?" Winnfield asked, unable to see how anyone could be bothered to ring the bells manually.

"Oh, yeah. I set them to ring at noon every day. It used to bring in a lot of ghouls, but I think I've just about cleared them out. I've got the whole place to myself, pretty much." He smiled and scratched thoughtfully at his whiskered jaw. "Where are you guys headed?"

Before she answered, Winnfield received a warning look from Tallahassee: No more strays. Not that they had any room in their car, anyway, but she agreed. Going from no attachments to four had been a harder process than it appeared. But as easy as it was to be a lone wolf, being in a pack had its advantages – mainly the fact that you got to talk to someone other than yourself.

"We're headed east, actually."

"Don't tell me it's 'cause you heard that there aren't any villains down that way."

Doing her best to push out the images of evil cloaked men with pencil-moustaches running around the eastern states, Winnfield managed to shake her head. She threw Columbus and Tallahassee knowing looks; they were well and truly past that stage by now. East, west, north, south; it didn't matter – zombies weren't known to abide by hearsay.

"Well, good luck. Like I said, it's just nice to see some actual people passin' through."

"We're the first you've seen?"

"Oh no, a few have passed through, actually. Yeah," he nodded, slowly turning back towards his awaiting tower. With those few words, hope suddenly found its way back to Winnfield; hope and relief. All this time she had thought they were the only people left in all of the US. When she thought about it now it seemed kind of silly.

"Oh, also", he said, turning back as he stood in the doorway, "Feel free to help yourselves to any supplies around the town. I'm pretty well stocked up."

He smiled, nodded and made his exit, pulling the door closed and sliding across a heavy deadbolt.

* * *

"Well that was-"

"Weird?" Columbus tried.

"I was going to say 'interesting', but that did feel kind of surreal," replied Winnfield, "What are the odds, huh?"

"What, did you think we were the only ones left?" Tallahassee asked them.

"I would've cried for humanity," Columbus replied.

"You would cry over anything, Shirley," Tallahassee said, slipping his free hand into Winnfield's.


	15. Chapter 15

**LET'S TAKE THE ROAD OUT TO THE COUNTRYSIDE, MY DEAR  
WHERE THE MOUNTAINS GO FOREVER AND THE BIRDS ARE ALWAYS NEAR.  
WE'LL BUILD A BETTER LIFE, WE'LL LEAVE THE CITY FAR BEHIND US  
LIVING WHERE THE OUTSIDE WORLD WILL NEVER FIND US...**

 **STOCKPILING WEAPONRY**

"You and Columbus...Are you guys like 'together' now, or...?"

"It's not like we're dating or anything. But, you know...I like him."

Taking advantage of the warm western weather, Wichita and her little sister lay on the front of the car, soaking up nearly enough sunshine to forget that they were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Nearly, but not quite.

"He did save our lives," Wichita went on, re-positioning herself on the hot metal.

"Yeah," Little Rock agreed. "The other two definitely are."

"Florida and Louisiana?" She thought about the kiss back in Pacific Playland. "Yeah. That's obvious."

"They're weird."

"I think that's the attraction," Wichita smiled. "God, I wish those bells would stop already. It's almost as bad as listening to Tallahassee's music for three hours straight."

A couple of minutes later, the sound did stop; only to be replaced by a sound far worse. It was pure luck that the chiming ceased when it had, otherwise the two sisters might never have heard the hacking cough before it was too late.

Expecting to see a familiar face, Wichita sat up and took off her sunglasses.

"Do you hear someth–" Little Rock began, but Wichita was way ahead of her.

"Holy crap!"

Grabbing her sister's hand, she pulled her to the other side of the car, using the vehicle as a shield between themselves and the approaching creature.

In its current state, it looked far from anything that had once been human. Its face appeared to have been torn off, perhaps by another zombie moments before it had succumbed to its undead fate. One of its arms was missing from the elbow, leaving only a shiny white nub protruding from the shreds of flesh that had once been part of a forearm. One of its feet were also missing, leaving it to hobble slowly towards its prey. Arguably its most disturbing feature, though, was the long hair that grew in patches on what was left of its scalp. It was very thin and very hungry.

After the momentary shock of having something like that creep up on you, Wichita's nerve picked back up and she lined up what she hoped would be her first and only shot. It struck it in the collarbone, causing it to stumble back a few steps, but doing little in the way of stopping it.

"Here!" Little Rock said, holding her hand out for the gun.

"I've got it," Wichita told her, taking another shot that this time hit it in the shoulder. With an angry sigh, she lined up her third shot.

Little Rock, meanwhile, had given up on her sister's skills after the first failed attempt. She moved to the backseat of the car and took out one of the rifles. Back at her sister's side, she followed Tallahassee's shooting advice, which had yet to fail her, and took out the zombie clear through head.

"Nice shot," Wichita told her, genuinely impressed, "but I would've had it. It's just, with this sunglare..."

"Sure," Little Rock replied. The two sisters exchanged smiles and got to their feet, deciding not to get too comfortable in case of another surprise attack.

* * *

By the time Winnfield, Columbus and Tallahassee returned from their little outing, they found Wichita sitting Indian-style on the bonnet of the car, a rifle across her lap. They could just make out the top of Little Rock's head as she fiddled with something in the front seat.

"She's trying the radio," Wichita explained when she saw Tallahassee craning his neck for a better look. "I doubt she'll find anything but, you know, it keeps her entertained."

"You guys run into trouble?" Columbus asked, spotting the flattened zombie not far from the car.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Wichita smiled, raising the rifle and using the butt to push herself off the bonnet.

"So I'm not going crazy!" Winnfield said, kicking the mangled corpse in the head, "I did see something in that store."

"What was the mystery noise?" Wichita asked Columbus, drawing his attention from the odd southerner.

"It was a guy," he told her. "Some guy locked himself up in a bell tower and makes the noise to attract zombies."

"Wait, an actual living guy?"

The three nodded.

Not wanting to look too surprised by this news since, like the others, Wichita had been under the impression they were likely to be the last survivors in the country, she gave a casual nod.

"Oh."

"Whatcha doin', kid?" Winnfield asked, stepping over to the driver's side window while Columbus and Tallahassee continued to relay the story to Wichita.

"There are like no stations at all. No music or anything," Little Rock replied. She twisted the radio dial all the way to the right, paused, and then all the way to the left. "There was this one guy on here. I think he was a priest or something."

"Really? Hey, scoot over."

Little Rock obeyed, climbing over into the passenger seat and readjusting it to an upright position. Winnfield got into the car and began playing with the dial, listening carefully for even the slightest sign of life. Nothing. Dead air.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

"You drivin'?" Tallahassee asked suddenly, leaning in her window.

"I guess so. Kid's called shotgun."

Tallahassee moved to the next door and hopped in. Winnfield waited while a smiling Columbus and Wichita finished up their conversation and got in, too.

A little while later, after a brief lunch break, they were back on the main highway, heading for New Mexico.

* * *

They were barely fifteen minutes across the border when Columbus and Winnfield began arguing directions again. Driving into or near a capital city was not a good idea, and the thought of it went against Columbus' every instinct. Winnfield, on the other hand, was willing to charge through Albuquerque, guns blazing if necessary, just to cut time off their trip. She was so close to her home and her brothers that she could almost taste it...not literally, of course. That would be weird.

It eventually came to a point where they had to pull over. While Columbus and Winnfield stood at the front of the car with the big map spread across the bonnet, discussing numerous alternative routes, and Tallahassee went to the side of the road to relieve himself, Wichita took a couple of muesli bars out for her and Little Rock.

She glanced up from tearing open the wrapper, as Winnfield raised her voice a little outside. She couldn't quite make out what the two were saying, but Winnfield looked ready to hit something. More likely _someone_.

Tallahassee sauntered over and made as if to wipe his hand on Columbus' face, breaking into laughter along with Winnfield. She tossed him a bottle of Purell she had 'borrowed' from Columbus and turned her attention back to the map, where Columbus was now marking out a new route.

Wichita couldn't help but notice the way that the three stuck together, sort of like an exclusive group of survivors that she and her sister had become the third wheels to. They had their in-jokes, shared experiences and even an odd sort of bond for such a rag-tag bunch. As she munched on the fruit and oat bar, she couldn't help but wonder how things might change if they were to find Winnfield's brothers. If they ever got around to actually driving to Louisiana, that is.

Columbus and Winnfield appeared to have reached an agreement, as Winnfield playfully held out her hand to shake on it. Columbus, slightly confused, reached out to take it, but instead Winnfield pulled him forward and ruffled his hair, grinning as she then snatched up the map and got back into the driver's seat. Since Little Rock had climbed into the back with her sister, the front passenger seat was freed up once again for Tallahassee, who automatically claimed the space beside Winnfield.

The new chosen route added almost half a day to their trip, but Columbus was convinced that in the long run, avoiding all the major cities and towns would be in their best interest. Winnfield wasn't exactly pleased with the plan, but Columbus had a way of convincing her with all that logic of his. But it was Columbus' decision that would lose them their car and all their supplies.

They just didn't know it yet.

* * *

Entering a town called Truth or Consequences, Winnfield nearly missed the big burning house to her left. She had just driven passed it when she threw the car into reverse and stopped right out the front.

They all stared at it for a couple of minutes, entranced by the movement of the flames, when they all heard something that sounded a lot like a kid crying.

"What the hell?" Winnfield said, her eyes widening.

"Guys, I think –" Columbus began, but Tallahassee was already out of the car and making a beeline straight for the building. Wichita paused for a moment before following suit, Little Rock not far behind her.

"Wait, where's everyone...Didn't you guys see _Jurassic Park_? Get back in the car. It could be anything!"

Winnfield growled as they all ignored her, turning to see what Columbus was going to do. He gave her a 'What? Don't blame me!' look and shrugged.

"It sounded like a kid," he reasoned.

"You know what else sounds like a kid? A zombie that used to be one." She sighed, irritated by yet another delay, and picked up her shotgun. "Are you coming or what?"

Columbus quickly undid his seatbelt, and grabbed the nearest gun, jogging after her. They found the other three around the back of the house, each of them disarmed. A man had Little Rock by the neck, a gun pointed to her head, and a little boy of about six years by his side. The boy's cheeks were wet with crocodile tears.

As they rounded the corner, Winnfield's natural instinct kicked in and she aimed her shotgun right at the man.

"Whoa, now. No one needs to get hurt here," he reasoned, "All we need is your car and whatever you got in it. There ain't any supplies around here and I ain't about to let my boy die. So what's it going to be?"

"Pardon?" Winnfield asked in disbelief, her eyes darting around as she tried to assess the situation as best as she could.

"Drop the gun or I start shootin'. Startin' with this one." Although she could tell he was every bit serious about doing it, Winnfield could see tears forming in his eyes – desperate times call for...well, you know the rest.

She glanced over at Wichita, who was silently begging her to do what the man asked. When she locked eyes with Tallahassee, she knew she didn't have a choice. She hesitated and then dropped the gun.

"Kick it over here," he said, tightening his grip around Little Rock as he gestured for her to hurry up. Her lip curled up into a sneer as she did what he said. The man looked to Columbus, who had already dropped his weapon, and nodded for him to do the same thing.

Wichita could feel Columbus' eyes on her as he stood behind her, and as if the thoughts from his overactive mind had somehow drifted into hers, she realised how screwed they really were. This guy was going to leave them with nothing.

He took up their guns, giving a few to his little boy to hold, had the nerve to thank them, (though it seemed to be out of polite habit, not out of spite), gently released Little Rock, but in his hurry knocked her to the ground, and then ran for the car, which Winnfield had left running in case they needed to make a speedy exit. She was kicking herself for it now.

While Wichita helped Little Rock to her feet, checking if she was okay, Winnfield turned towards the road. As if he'd read her mind, Tallahassee put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, only to be met with a stormy look as she shrugged off his grip.

"I'm just as pissed as you are, probably even more since the guy managed to jump me first, but you go out there now and he is gonna shoot you. He don't wanna, but he ain't gonna ask questions first when he's got a kid to look out for. And I don't wanna be buryin' you."

Winnfield's expression softened after a moment's thought and she nodded.

"I would smash the crap out of that house's widows right now, if it weren't already burning," she said.

"Speaking of which," Columbus began, "We should probably..."

"Yeah," the others agreed, jogging across to an adjacent field just as the flames hit a gas tank, sending a fireball into the sky. They collapsed beneath a tree, all except for Winnfield, who decided to take out her anger on the oak. A few cuts and splinters later, she rejoined them. Tallahassee got to his feet and looked down at the others.

"Alrighty, first things first. Weapons," Winnfield said.

"What?" asked Columbus, shielding his eyes against the sunlight as he looked up at her.

"We aren't gonna sit around and mope for the rest of the apocalypse. We've come this far, so yeah. Weapons."

"I think I see a farm down there," Tallahassee told her, pointing in the direction they had been driving.

Little Rock dried her face on the back of her sleeve and got to her feet, trying to cover up a sniffle as she said, "Alright, let's go."

"Wait, that guy said that there aren't any supplies for miles," Columbus said, standing up and brushing the dirt from his jeans.

"He also said, 'Hi, random strangers. Thanks for handing me all your supplies without a fight'. We might as well try. I don't see any other choice, really."

Wichita was the last person to get up, her eyes filled with tears as she thought of how close she'd come to losing her sister; basically the only thing she had to live for anymore. Columbus looked over at her sympathetically, not really sure what he should do. Hug her? Comfort her? Offer her his condolences?  
Catching his awkward expression, Wichita got to her feet and pretended to be alright.

"One thing the asshole didn't get..." Winnfield began. She pulled their map from her back pocket, waving it with a big grin. "At least we'll know which direction to not find supplies in."

* * *

The only half-useful thing they managed to find at the farmhouse was a working tractor, which Winnfield jokingly suggested they could use to dig their own graves. Columbus and the sisters decided to brave the derelict house, but as they tried to push open the front door they found the water-expanded wood stuck fast in the frame. As Columbus tried one last time to throw himself against it, doing nothing but bruising the hell out of his shoulder, Winnfield hopped up onto the porch and slid open one of the front windows with ease.

Since she and Tallahassee were able to see the potential-weapon in almost any object, they decided to search an old wooden shed out the back of the homestead, discovering a bunch of rusty tools that seemed to disintegrate the moment you touched them, as well as a few monster-sized spiders that revealed one of Winnfield's weaknesses. Tallahassee, of course, found this hilarious.

Winnfield jumped about a foot in the air as she felt a tickle on the back of her neck, slapping away whatever it was that was causing it. Tallahassee grinned and dropped the piece of straw the moment she spun around.

"Asshole," she said, heading around the back of the shed to see if they'd missed anything. He chuckled and went after her, gently running his fingers along the back of her neck as he snuck up behind her.

"I swear to God..." She turned around tried to grab his arm, but he moved out of her reach. A different look crossed her face now and this time he stayed completely still, allowing her to wrap her arm around his neck and kiss him. This kiss felt a lot more serious than the one they had shared at Pacific Playland. Slowly, they stepped backwards towards the shed until Winnfield was right up against it. She paused for a moment to check for spiders, then, after a brief exchange of smiles, went right on back to kissing him.

He felt like a teenager who had snuck out to play hooky with the girl next-door. Only instead of awkward hand placement and quick, desperate lip-locking, they were both experienced adults who knew just the right buttons to press. But just as he was sliding a hand under her shirt, they heard the others calling them from the farmhouse.

They stopped, both amused and disappointed by their luck, and stepped away from the old shed. Winnfield – who had a few new splinters to add to the ones she had gotten from the oak tree – walked on ahead, turning to offer him a mischievous smile. He had to pause for a moment while he got his breath back, then walked after her with a big, silly smile plastered on his face.

"You guys find anything?" Columbus asked the pair when they reached the front of the house.

"Nope," Winnfield replied, running her hands back through her hair. Wichita was the only one who noticed her adjust her shirt, which was a little askew.

"We might have more luck in the next town over," Columbus went on, leading the way down the road.

"I found this," said Little Rock, holding up a rusty kitchen knife.

"Problem with rust in this place, or..." Winnfield commented.

Tallahassee reached out for the weapon, presuming Little Rock was showing it to them because she had intended on giving it to one of them, but he was wrong.

"Nah-uh. Get your own," she told him, going to catch up with her sister, leaving Tallahassee to scowl after her.

"Come on, ya big lummox," Winnfield told him with a grin, "It's not like it's the end of the world."

* * *

 **A/N: Just a quick note. This is the last of the material I had written. I had forgotten I even made it past the movie plot. I have a lot of other stories on the go right now, so I'm not in a hurry to update this one. I'll see how it goes, though. Thanks in advance to those who decide to like or review. xx**

 **Edit: Having read the chapters I have past the film's storyline, I remembered I had a whole sequel planned for this story. I think if I receive enough interest in the original story, I could start working on new chapters, however the second half would be written in a completely different tone to the movie. Whereas the original story was relatively playful, the second half I had planned is quite dark - it would include finding Winnfield's remaining brothers and staying on their property for a while; Winnfield's oldest brother getting between her and Tallahassee, and Wichita showing interest in Winnfield's other brother, causing tension between her and Columbus. But like I said, I'd like to see if there's any interest before adding to my already-full workload when it comes to writing. If any of this sounds interesting to you, let me know in the reviews section. Thanks. xx**


End file.
